Power Which Seems Omnipotent
by 1note
Summary: Journalist Skye Danziger, a Familiar both defective and blessed, is assigned to Terminal City and soon finds herself fitting in better with the Transgenics than her own kind. What will she do when her loyalties are tested? Which side will she choose?
1. Skye

**A/N:** I'm sorry to say I only recently started watching _Dark Angel_ on Netflix. I loved it right away and was sad to discover it was only on for two seasons. What the heck's up with that? Anyway, out of all the great characters on that show, Joshua instantly became my favorite the moment he first appeared in Season 2. He's just so freaking adorable! Imagine my disappointment when I discovered how few fanfiction stories feature him. And _none_ of them that I've seen have a Joshua/OC pairing! C'mon, people! Don't genetically engineered dog-men deserve love, too? Well, _I_ think so, so I have written this, the first (but hopefully not last) Joshua romance. Let me know what you think.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

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><p><strong>NOTE: This story takes place after the end of Season 2 and the novelizations by Max Allan Collins (if you haven't read them yet, you darn well should).<strong>

"_Pain is a phantom of the mind." -Ames White_

2002

I was five when they learned about my defect.

My mother and I lived in one of the nicer neighborhoods, with perfect lawns in front of the houses, a school where the students weren't subjected to mandatory weapons checks, and an idyllic little park where families spent their afternoons picnicking, tossing frisbees with their dogs, or clambering on the playground equipment. I was playing tag with some other kids my age that fateful day. I remember I was "it" at the time and was chasing the others all around the park. I cut across the sandbox to head off my chosen victim when I tripped and fell forward. My arms shot out to catch myself and my right hand landed on a half-buried broken bottle some wino had left there one night. My mother came running at the sounds of my screams and found me sitting in the sandbox holding my injured hand out to her. She thought all the noise was because the sight of the blood frightened me.

She carried me into the public bathroom and ran my hand under the faucet, saw the cut wasn't all that deep and decided to take me home and bandage it instead of going to the hospital. I sniffled and cried the entire walk home. She thought I was just doing it to get more attention.

At home, my mother sat me down at the kitchen table and dug out the first aid kit. I'd taken cuts and scrapes before, but never anything this serious. So when she applied the cotton ball soaked in disinfectant, I wasn't prepared for the sting. I cried out and jerked my hand away. My mother blinked in surprise. "Why'd you pull away, sweetie?"

I didn't know _hurt_. It was a word that didn't exist in my little world. "I don't like it," was all I could say while fresh tears rolled down my cheeks.

And my mother's face fell as she finally realized the awful truth; I was in pain.

She finished bandaging my hand and sent me out into the living room with my coloring books. I'd calmed down by then and didn't think anything more of it, but I did notice how my mother just sat there for a long time, staring at nothing. It was weird and made me a little uncomfortable. I wanted to ask what was wrong, but at the same time I didn't want to go near her while she was like that. Finally, she got up and picked up the phone from the kitchen counter. I didn't know who she was talking to or what was said, but her voice sounded upset. A few minutes later she hung up and came out into the living room. Her eyes were red like she'd been crying, but her cheeks were dry. She smiled down at me.

"Hey, how'd you like a nice big bowl of ice cream?"

My eyes widened and the anxiety I'd felt instantly disappeared. "Yeah!"

She fixed me her special sundae, something she usually only did on my birthday or on holidays. I wolfed down the treat with typical five-year-old enthusiasm, forgetting all about my injured hand and my mother's strange behavior. When I finished, she wiped the smeared chocolate sauce from around my mouth and said, "Now we need to go visit someone."

"Who?"

"Someone very important. A doctor."

I perked up. "Doctor Wollencroft?" I asked, referring to my pediatrician, who I liked.

My mother shook her head. "No a different doctor. I told him about what happened to you at the park and he wants to make sure you're alright."

"Will he fix my hand?"

A strange expression flitted across her face. "We'll see."

Just before we pulled out of the driveway, she turned to me with the saddest look I'd ever seen in her eyes and said, "No matter what, I want you to remember that I'm doing this because I love you."

I didn't understand, so I gave the automatic answer, "I love you, too, Mommy."

She looked as if I had punched her in the chest.

It was the same hospital I'd always gone to, but this time the nurse led us down a different hall and ushered us into an examining room I didn't recognize. Doctor Wollencroft's room was heavily decorated with cartoon characters and always had a cozy feel to it. Here the walls were sterile off-white and the air felt chilly. My mother continued to grip my uninjured left hand in hers. She seemed just as uneasy by these unfamiliar surroundings as I was. Thankfully, we weren't kept waiting long. A man in a standard white lab coat marched in and stood before us. He was an older man with steel gray hair and equally steely eyes set in a severe face. He made me nervous, like I'd done something bad and he knew it.

_"Fe'nos tol,"_ he said in an emotionless voice.

_"Fe'nos tol,"_ my mother responded.

"From our ancestors. For our children's children."

"From my mother before me. For my daughters." My mother's hand squeezed mine.

"Tell me what happened."

My mother told the scary doctor about my accident and how I reacted to the disinfectant. Her voice shook the longer she talked and pretty soon she fell silent altogether. I looked up at her and saw that she was fighting tears. This frightened me even more than the doctor's cold stare.

The doctor pressed his lips together until they almost disappeared. "Put her on the examination table," he ordered.

My mother hurried to obey. The table's thin paper cover crinkled under me. I hunched my shoulders to try and hide inside myself.

"Sit up," the doctor barked. I straightened instantly; there was no disobeying that tone of voice. The doctor walked over to a set of cabinets and reached into a drawer. He then came over to me. I couldn't look away from those steely eyes of his, which was why I didn't see the needle until I felt it pierce the skin of my thigh. I jerked away with a shriek and buried my face against my mother's chest, sobbing in fear and confusion.

"Mommy, don't let him do that again! I don't like it!"

My mother pressed her hand to her mouth for a second, then said in a shaky voice, "It's okay, sweetie. It was just a test." She glanced at the doctor who nodded once and went to a glass-fronted cabinet full of different vials and pill bottles. He selected a small vial full of brownish liquid and filled the syringe he'd jabbed me with earlier.

"The...the doctor's going to give you something so you won't hurt anymore."

"Hurt?" I asked.

My mother nodded. "That's what you felt. That was pain. It hurt you."

The doctor approached with the filled syringe. I eyed him and it warily. "And that's gonna make it stop?"

Both adults nodded. The scary doctor took my wrist and straightened my arm out. I wanted to pull away, but the look in my mother's eyes stopped me. I'd never seen her so sad. Not even when my father died.

I whimpered as the needle pierced my skin again. The doctor pushed the plunger and the syringe's contents entered my bloodstream. When he was done my mother came over and urged me to lie down. "You should be getting sleepy pretty soon," she said, stroking my hair.

"And when I wake up I'll be better?"

She smiled at me, but her eyes were still sad. "That's right. You won't hurt anymore." She kissed me on the forehead.

I closed my eyes and waited to fall asleep, just like at nap time. Minutes trickled by, but I didn't feel any sleepier. The chilly room and the hardness of the examination table didn't help. Also the tense silence of the two adults in the room, waiting. I finally couldn't stay quiet any longer. "Mommy? Should I be sleepy now?"

I heard a faint gasp and opened my eyes to see my mother and the doctor both staring at me, mouths open in shock.

I sat up. "Did I say something wrong?"

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

I knew something was up the minute Nathan Barnett called me into his office. Nate was the executive editor of _Modern Events_, a blandly-titled post-Pulse weekly magazine that also happened to be the second most popular periodical in the nation, right behind the indefatigable _Time_. He only handed out the really plumb (and risky) assignments himself, leaving the everyday stuff to his managing editors. In the two years I'd worked for _Modern Events_, Nate had sent me and my trusty camera to cover every hot and deadly happening no one else had the nerve to touch. I've interviewed Saudi soldiers on the front lines of the Oil Wars, gotten up close and personal with a notorious South American guerrilla leader in his hidden base camp, and managed to take the only known photographs of the dying victims locked away in African genocide camps _and_ smuggle the pictures and myself out in one piece. My articles and photos were a large part of what made _Modern Events_ famous (Nate's claim, not mine) and won me enough awards to take up an entire wall of my apartment.

"What's up?" I said, plopping down in one of the plush chairs situated in front of Nathan's desk.

Nate picked up a newspaper from his desk and held it up for me to see. It was a copy of the _New World Weekly_, in popularity, the tabloid equivalent to _M.E._ Its front page showed a badly developed picture of dozens of grotesque man-like creatures wearing party hats and big screaming yellow letters emblazoned over their heads proclaiming FREAK NATION CELEBRATES FIRST BIRTHDAY! EXCLUSIVE PHOTOS INSIDE!

"You seen this?"

I snorted, "No. You know I don't read that garbage."

Nate let the paper drop back onto his desk. "Well, about five million bored housewives and conspiracy nuts do, and thanks to this rag's exclusive arrangement with Terminal City, that readership's been steadily growing over the last few months."

"Well, people do love a freak show," I shrugged, "What's your point?"

His handsome face sported a smug grin. "Guess who managed to get in touch with Max Guevara."

Max Guevara, known back in the Manticore days as Designation X5-452, liberator of and poster girl for the Transgenic race.

"I talked to her about doing an exclusive four-part series about Terminal City," Nate continued, his grin widening, "She and her little council of mutants agreed, provided you're the one who's given the assignment."

My jaw fell open. It wasn't an act; I was genuinely shocked. Ever since the Transgenics established their own community in Terminal City, every TV station and news publication had tried to get past those guarded walls for the scoop on the genetically engineered mutants. When flattery, begging, and bribery didn't work, some of the less scrupulous newshounds tried trickery. One idiot even had a barcode tattooed to the back of his neck which got him through the front gate, only to almost drop dead when he came in contact with one of the deadly biological agents that earned Terminal City its name, and which only Transgenics were immune to. _New World Weekly_ was the only publication that was able to feature any kind of inside information on the semi-reclusive Transgenics, and that was only because one of their writers was apparently friends with Max Guevara.

"Are you telling me I'm gonna spend the next month in Terminal City?" I couldn't stop my voice from rising. I wasn't sure if it was excitement or anxiety or repulsion. Knowing myself like I did, probably all three. A perverse part of me was always thrilled with the prospect of getting into potentially dangerous situations that normal people shied from. But at the same time, this meant getting up close and personal with Transgenics, and I had some seriously mixed feelings about that, to say the least.

Nate held up his hands to stave off whatever protests I might throw at him. "Before you get all worked up about it, I've been told the risk of exposure to something nasty is fairly low so long as you're only there for short periods of time and avoid the more heavily contaminated areas. The freaks should give you plenty of warning of where not to go." He cleared his throat, a nervous habit. He knew I could refuse this assignment if I didn't think it was worth the risk to my safety. It was in my contract.

I mulled it over. I wasn't worried about all the biohazards I might encounter. It was the thought of coming into contact with all those Transgenics that made me hesitate. While I was curious as hell, I also had more than a few misgivings. And even if I did decide to accept this assignment, there was no guarantee that certain higher powers would let me go through with it.

"Can I think about it and get back to you?"

Nate shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure, long as I get your answer by tomorrow afternoon."

I nodded and left the office. Instead of returning to my own cluttered desk, I decided to take a walk. My watch beeped a reminder to me as I was exiting the building and I groaned. Dammit, my appointment. I changed direction and headed for the parking lot where my tiny beat-up Ford waited. Traffic was fairly light, not counting the sector checkpoints. Twenty minutes later I pulled into the parking lot of the hospital I'd been coming to every other month since I moved to this city. No waiting room for me; the nurse showed me to the usual room the second she saw me. The room was located in a special wing of the hospital. Not just anybody was allowed there. The doctors, the staff, the patients, all were Familiars. The only outsiders allowed were those who were paired up with Familiars for breeding, and they were kept ignorant of everyone else's true natures.

The routine was old hat by now. As soon as the nurse left me alone I stripped out of my clothes and put on the hospital gown that was left out for me. As usual, the room was too damn cold for comfort. Maybe doctors were afraid their patients would spoil if left out in the heat too long. Once the gown was on I lay myself down on the examination table and put my feet up in the stirrups. I wasn't being helpful; I just wanted to get this over with as fast as possible.

I glanced at the door as it swung open and a tall, dark-haired man in the usual white lab coat came in. While his hair didn't show any signs of graying, his severe features were creased from years of scowling. He reminded me of the scary doctor I saw when I was five. His name was Jackson, a renowned fertility expert. He stared at me in my vulnerable position without a hint of emotion.

_"Fe'nos tol."_

_"Fe'nos tol,"_ I answered, hoping he'd skip the formalities this time around. No such luck.

"From our ancestors. For our children's children."

"From my mother before me. For my daughters." Though I kept my expression neutral, I couldn't quite hide the sarcasm from my voice when I recited the last part. Doctor Jackson squinted at me, but decided not to bother with a reprimand. I could get away with the little things, as long as I cooperated.

Jackson seated himself on the stool situated between my legs and started the usual pelvic exam. At least his hands were warm, unlike everything else about the place. When he finished, he called a nurse who brought in the syringe. This one didn't have a needle on the end. Instead, it had a long thin tube. Inside was the donation from the latest candidate they hoped might be compatible with me. I didn't bother asking who it might be. Jackson wasn't going to tell me, and I didn't really want to know. This way was slightly less humiliating than forcing me to fuck a series of strangers like some prostitute, but it still left me feeling like a piece of meat. I stared up at the perforated ceiling tiles while the doctor injected the sperm into me and then adjusted the bed to lift my pelvis a little higher. I'd have to stay in that position for a while to give the little wigglers a chance to reach my fallopian tubes. Then I'd leave and the merry cycle would repeat itself two months later.

The doctor stood and removed his latex gloves, tossing them into the waste receptacle along with the spent syringe. "Have you any information you wish to pass on to the Conclave?" Jackson was a member of the Familiars' ruling body, though not as high ranking as some. When I became a journalist and started doing all these high-risk international stories, the Conclave, through Jackson, started ordering me to gather intel for them. What they did with the information, I had no idea. I wasn't about to push my luck trying to find out.

"My editor offered me a new assignment," I said.

Jackson didn't look up from the chart he was scribbling on. "Yes?" he muttered absently.

"It's in Terminal City."

That got his attention. He turned his intense stare on me. "You will be allowed contact with the Transgenic filth?"

"That's the idea. It's a four-part special. I'll be interviewing all their higher-ups, including Max Guevara."

I could see the wheels turning as he considered the implications. "Have you accepted the assignment?"

"Not yet. I thought I should see what the Conclave thought about it first."

"A wise decision," he said in that condescending way I hated worse than his cold indifference, "Take the assignment. Find whatever weaknesses we can exploit. The Conclave will be in touch should more be required of you."

I nodded, my face expressionless. I was a little surprised he agreed so quickly. Either he thought it was worth the risk, or he didn't believe I'd get pregnant from this latest insemination anymore than I did.

The doctor headed for the door. "The nurse will let you know when you may leave. _Fe'nos tol._"

_"Fe'nos tol."_

As soon as I was outside the hospital, I dug my cellphone out of my pocket and called Nathan. "It's Skye. I'll take the assignment."


	2. Joshua

**A/N:** Next chapter and Joshua finally makes his first appearance. Feel free to review. I really would like to know what you think so far. Like it? Hate it?

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

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><p><span>2002<span>

The shot the scary doctor had given me was a powerful toxin, deadly even to the toughest Familiars. Because I could feel pain, the doctor and my mother both thought I was weak and would never survive the test that all Familiars had to pass at the age of six. So they decided to put me down like an unwanted dog. It was years before I realized this, and after that I never spoke to my mother again. I couldn't forgive her, even though I knew she thought it was a mercy. Mothers aren't supposed to write their own children off so easily.

But miraculously, the toxin didn't kill me. It might as well have been tap water for all he affect it had on me, and the doctor had injected me with enough of the stuff to kill a grown man three times my size. The Conclave was notified immediately and I spent the next month or so getting exposed to every poison and pathogen, both natural and engineered, known to man. Injected, ingested, and breathed in gaseous form. And none of it affected me. No rashes, no sneezing, no fevers. They took blood samples after every exposure and found them pristine every time.

My immune system was...perfect.

The Conclave didn't intend it that way when they chose my father for my mother. I was a random mutation. A fluke. A miracle. My only flaw, as far as they were concerned, was the fact that I could feel pain. They decided to let me live in spite of this defect so that I might pass on my perfect immunity to my children.

When I turned six I was sent to Brookridge Academy, a Familiar training camp disguised as a boarding school. The years I spent there ended up being the loneliest of my life.

Aside from the normal subjects like maths, sciences, histories, and literature, we also received special lessons that only Familiars knew. I was only taught the basics before my initiation. No point in passing everything on if I didn't survive, after all. Mostly, my teachers focused on helping me learn the words I would say during the ceremony, spoken in the secret language of the Familiars. It wasn't long before I could speak it as fluently as English. Like all Familiar children, I learned quickly; good breeding.

It didn't take long for my classmates to find out that I could feel pain. It made me an easy target for every bully there. They were sneaky about it, too. Surreptitious pinches in the hallway, thumbtacks left in my chair or in my shoes. At first I tried going to the faculty, but they just looked at me in disgust and said I had to learn to be strong. After that I learned to keep my face blank no matter how much I hurt, and to always check before I sat down or put on my shoes. The bullies got bored by my lack of reaction and eventually left me alone.

I passed the initiation. I knew I would. My immune system neutralized the pathogen the second the priestess pressed the bloodied hilt of the ceremonial dagger to my forearm and etched the symbol onto my skin. I winced in pain and saw the distaste flicker in the priestess's eyes. Because of that, instead of experiencing the pride every initiate was supposed to feel on this important day, I was ashamed. It didn't matter that I passed the test without any signs of illness. I would always be seen as something less.

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><p><span>2022<span>

I decided to rent a car, since I wasn't sure my old Ford could make the trip to Seattle. I made my way into Sector 7 where Terminal City was located and parked my rental car next to an old building that had undergone some renovation over the last few months. Even though it was located outside the wall, Terminal City owned the place. It was where the Transgenics sold their wares to the Ordinaries. Turns out, there were a lot of artists among the mutants—painters and sculptors—and their artwork was in high demand. It was the main source of income for this emerging community.

I got out of the car with my camera hanging from my left shoulder and my bag from my right, straps criss-crossing over my chest, and entered the building. I climbed up the stairs to where a small diner was located and run by human-looking X-series Transgenics (Ordinaries were kind of squeamish about who handled their food). It was there that Max Guevara asked to meet me. I recognized her right away; she was the face of Terminal City, after all. She was seated at a table with a handsome young man I recognized as Alec McDowell, an X5 and the first Transgenic to hold a seat on the city council. Both of them were dressed casually. Guevara all in black with a leather jacket, biker boots, and fingerless gloves; McDowell in the latest fashion, conservative yet trendy.

I smiled and held out my hand. "Max? Hi, Skye Danziger."

She returned my smile and shook my proffered hand. Her grip was firm, but not crushing. I couldn't help but scrutinize her, looking for some obvious sign of her difference from normal humans. She was stunningly beautiful, like all X's, but that wasn't enough to mark her as Transgenic. It was no wonder she spent the last decade blending in with the Ordinaries without any trouble. For some reason, I found that unnerving. At least with the more extreme Transgenics—the anomalies and the specialized soldiers—there wasn't any room for doubt. But with the X-series, the only thing that gave them away was their barcode. They could be anyone.

Just like Familiars.

Alec thrust out his hand, a charming grin plastered on his face. "Alec McDowell, city counselor."

"I know. Your nomination was nationally televised," I said, shaking hands.

At the mention of his fame, Alec's smooth grin transformed into a self-congratulatory smirk. "That's me. History in the making."

Max rolled her eyes, earning her an annoyed glance from Alec. I almost laughed at their sibling rivalry.

The two of them resumed their seats and I took a vacant chair for myself, setting my bag by my feet and my camera on the table. A pretty teenaged girl, probably an X6, came over and offered me a menu. I waved it off and ordered an iced tea. Once the waitress left I got down to business. While we had the basics worked out over the phone, there were still some details to hash out.

"So, just to be clear, I will be allowed _inside_ Terminal City?"

Max nodded and handed me a piece of paper that turned out to be a map of the enclosed area. There were places marked with different colored dots: green, orange, and red. "We've worked out the different areas of contamination and how serious they are," she explained, "Green means the area's relatively clear. You shouldn't have anything to worry about there. Orange is for moderately dangerous. Limited exposure only; no more than a couple of hours, and you don't want to visit these places several days in a row. Red is off-limits. Period. You go into those places, chances are you're not comin' out alive."

I nodded soberly and folded the map, tucking it into my pocket. "Better not lose this, then."

Alec spoke up, "The map's just a precaution, really. You'll have an escort while your inside and he's been told to extend you every courtesy." That last part came out in a suave drawl. I was beginning to wonder if it was just me or if he acted that way towards every woman. Judging from Max's exasperation, I guessed the latter.

"That's very reassuring," I said, pretending not to notice his thinly veiled flirting. My iced tea arrived and I added a couple of packets of sugar.

"So, what all does this assignment of yours entail?" Alec asked, slouched casually in his chair.

I took a sip of tea. My eyebrows rose a little; there was actually some flavor to it, unlike other iced teas I'd had in various restaurants, which were pretty much just brown water. "Like my editor already told you, it's a four-part special. I'll be doing extensive articles on daily life in Terminal City. Routines, social dynamics, that sort of thing. I'm hoping to interview as many different Transgenics as possible, get a broad spectrum of the different kinds living there and how they all interact with each other and with Ordinaries. I'd also like to do some side columns focusing on specific individuals. Show our readers what the average Transgenic is like."

"If there is such a thing," Alec remarked drily.

"We're just people," Max said, "Like everyone else. The only difference is we were made instead of born."

"Then that's what I'll show people," I assured her, "Get rid of the mystery and preconceptions ordinary humans have about you. Ignorance is the root of fear. The more people learn about you, the less frightened they'll be."

Max leaned towards me, her expression earnest. "That's why we agreed to this. I've read some of your articles. You get the truth out without sensationalizing it or pandering to the mainstream media. You don't let your own opinion influence what you write. We need an unbiased voice to get our stories out there and you're the best person for the job."

I kept my expression friendly, giving nothing away. "That's why I'm here."

* * *

><p>What used to be a simple chain-link fence surrounding the contaminated area was now an imposing wall constructed mostly of whatever rubble happened to be lying around; something this post-Pulse city had no shortage of. The gate was made of thick iron bars welded together, topped with wicked spikes and strung with razor wire. Ugly, but functional. The guards on duty—a big hairless man with pink eyes and an X5 woman—opened the gate from the inside. I entered Terminal City for the first time, escorted by Max and Alec on either side of me. I heard the gate clang shut behind me, but didn't pay it any mind. I was too caught up in what I was seeing.<p>

I'd seen old photos of Terminal City before the Transgenics took it over. It was a wasteland that never got the chance to recover from the Pulse, unlike the rest of Seattle; crumbling buildings, trash and debris everywhere, rats and stray animals scuttling in the open or lying dead and bloated from the biochemicals that had driven everyone away. The only people who'd inhabited this place were those who'd pretty much reached the end of their lives anyway. The homeless and the hopeless.

Now I saw a bustling community. The buildings were still rundown, but they'd obviously been repaired enough to make them habitable. The streets were clean, most of the graffiti washed away or painted over. And everywhere there were people, walking, chatting, riding bikes, puttering along in patchwork cars. It could have been any other city block, if it weren't for the fact that some of the people I saw sported scales or fur or weirdly colored skin. I stopped and took up my camera, snapping off a few quick shots of my first glimpse of Terminal City. Max and Alec waited patiently until I replaced the lens cap and gestured for them to lead on.

More than a few glances were cast my way as we continued down the street. Guess the camera was a giveaway that I wasn't from around here. Some of the looks I got were wary, a few openly hostile, but most were just curious. It wasn't any different than the looks I got on my other assignments, so none of them fazed me.

I followed the two X5's to a nondescript building that housed the community's security force and audio/visual center. Inside the light was dim. I dug out the flash from my bag and attached it to my camera. Across a catwalk and down some stairs, and we reached the nerve center of Terminal City. There had to be over a dozen TVs arranged haphazardly around a variety of other electronic equipment; the control center. The rest of the place was filled with scattered chairs, sofas, and tables, none of which matched each other and all of it in need of a good patching up. Men and women lounged around, played cards, or cleaned the arsenal of weapons that they kept. These, I was told, were the volunteers who acted as both militia and law enforcement, depending on whether trouble came from outside the wall or in.

I was introduced first to Dix and Luke, the two technical wizzes who kept the city running. Dix was what the Transgenics called a 'Nomaly, a failed experiment. His head was lumpy and misshapen with a few pale wisps of hair clinging to it. He wore a strange monocle cobbled together from an old eyeglass lens and a rubber strap taken from a pair of goggles. I expected a harsh rasp or wet gurgle when he talked, but his voice was surprisingly light and pleasant. If my eyes were closed, I wouldn't know by listening to him that he was a genetic anomaly.

Because he was considered defective, Dix spent most of his life locked away in a cramped cell in Manticore's basement. He probably would have gone insane—as many other 'Nomalies had—if a sympathetic guard hadn't smuggled him books on a regular basis. Fiction, biographies, history, and, most importantly, technical manuals. It was through those that Dix discovered his affinity for electronics and that knowledge proved invaluable to Terminal City ever since.

Luke was a goblin-like creature with pale bluish skin and black eyes, hairless except for a couple of black tufts on the tips of his pointed ears. He was part of a worker caste created to do menial work, ditch-digging and the like. Smarts were never a factor, yet he had them in spades, especially when it came to cobbling machines together from whatever spare parts he found. He was a jovial little guy and always smiling, especially when he bragged about whatever project he was working on. Him and Dix worked together seamlessly. They answered my questions without hesitation and posed for some pictures in front of their A/V setup, arms draped over each other's shoulders, Luke beaming, Dix's smile more subdued.

A man entered the room and sauntered over, glaring at me the whole time. At least, I was pretty sure he glared; it was hard to tell with that severe face of his. He was a reptilian, designed for desert warfare. He wore several extra layers of baggy clothes and had a shotgun resting casually against his shoulder. The bony ridges on his head were pierced here and there with gold hoops and a well-chewed cigar stub jutted from the corner of his mouth.

Max introduced us, "Skye, this is Mole. He's part of the core group that keeps everything running and he's gonna be your escort from here on in." And he certainly looked thrilled at the prospect.

"Mole," she continued, "say hi to Skye Danziger of _Modern Events_."

The lizard-man uttered a noncommittal grunt.

I indicated the shotgun. "Expecting trouble?"

"Always do when humans are involved," he stated drily. Behind him, Luke and Dix exchanged here-we-go glances.

I raised an eyebrow. "Which humans? Originals or Transgenic?"

That gave the others some amusement. Mole, however, just scowled even deeper, the crease between his strange gold eyes like a hatchet wound.

Max's pager chose that moment to beep. She sighed and checked the number on the screen. "Sorry, I gotta blaze. Seems there's always some new emergency." She looked at me. "You gonna be okay on your own?"

"I'm sure Mole will be fine enough company."

Max nodded her head in that way people did when they were humoring you rather than agreeing. "Okay, then. Hope to talk to you again soon." Everybody said their goodbyes. "Be nice," she whispered to Mole in passing.

"I'd better head out, too," Alec announced, "Got a city council meeting in a couple of hours and I need to make sure I'm current on all the issues I'm not allowed to vote on." His position on the council was non-voting, but once the Transgenics gained a better foothold in the political world they hoped to change that.

Alec followed Max out the door.

I thanked Dix and Luke for their time, promised them copies of the magazine with their pictures, and Mole and I left the control center.

"Where d'you wanna go first?" my escort asked gruffly.

I shrugged. "Wherever you think I can get a good feel for the place. The first issue's mostly gonna be an overview of Terminal City. I'll get into specifics in the later issues. So," I smiled up at him, "where to first?"

Mole sighed and picked a direction. "C'mon."

I kept pace with him, snapping off occasional pictures along the way. Like before, this drew some attention from the locals. None of them looked all that irritated, though, just curious.

"So, why do they call you Mole?" I asked.

"None of your damn business," he grumbled.

"'No comment' takes less effort to say," I advised in a friendly tone. I pointed my camera at him and he visibly recoiled. "Mind if a take your picture?"

"Yeah, I mind! Just 'cause the others agreed to be in your little freak show doesn't mean I'm interested."

"Okay, then." I replaced the lens cap and let my camera dangle from its strap.

Mole blinked. "Okay?"

I nodded, grinning at his surprise. "Yeah. Not everything has to be a battle, y'know. If you don't want to be in the articles, that's fine. There are plenty of others who will." I nodded at what looked like a crowd up ahead. "So, where are we going?"

"Marketplace."

When the Pulse brought down the containment systems that held all the biohazards at bay, people literally dropped everything and ran like hell. As a result, there was a large variety of items to be found in Terminal City and some of the Transgenics made a business of salvaging and restoring whatever might be useful or desired. Booths constructed from scrap materials were erected in a wide space where two broad avenues intersected, each one offering something different: furniture, clothes, books, CD's, gadgets. The place reminded me of an old-fashioned bazaar. There were even a couple of stands selling hot dogs and ice cream. I snapped off dozens of pictures and chatted with customers and businesspeople. It surprised me how quickly I got used to seeing the different deformities and strange body types. It only shows that humans are adaptable creatures; what's strange one minute becomes mundane the next.

Mole stayed in the background, eying me like expected me to pull out a bomb out of my bag and try to blow the place up. His suspicion made me all the more curious about his story. What happened to make him so angry and distrustful? Was it any worse than what other Transgenics went through before coming here?

A commotion up ahead distracted me from my musing and my eyes turned in the direction the noise was coming from. There were the sounds of children's high-pitched shouts and laughter, overlapped with what sounded like a large dog barking. Pretty soon a crowd of youngsters stampeded into view, and right behind them was a massive creature with long shaggy hair and gleaming fangs set in a snarling animal face. It would have been a terrifying sight if it weren't for the fact that the kids were all grinning.

Without even thinking about it, I raised my camera and depressed the shutter.

The giant dog-man suddenly scooped up a little boy and lifted him over his head. The kid squealed in excitement and the other kids skidded to a halt. Someone yelled "Dog pile!" and the next thing he knew the dog-man was being swamped by small bodies clambering over him. I had no doubt he could've easily shaken them off, but instead he let out a dramatic roar and toppled over, careful not to land on anyone, and all but disappeared under a squirming pile of children.

My feet carried me over and I realized I was laughing. The dog-man's head stuck out from beneath the pile. My view of his face was upside-down. He blinked up at me with the bluest eyes and his muzzle split in a wide, toothy grin. "Hi!"

And that was how I met Joshua.

_And he was the biggest man I'd ever seen_

_When he spoke his voice was low and deep_

_But he just didn't frighten me_

_'Cause somehow I just knew he wasn't mean_

_-Dolly Parton, "Joshua"_


	3. Applewood

**A/N:** I've taken the time to correct the dates I screwed up in the previous chapter.

Thanks for the Favorites, Followings, and Reviews. I hope I managed to capture Joshua's personality in this chapter successfully. Funny how writing the smarmy Mole is way easier for me. But then again, I'm pretty smarmy myself in real life, so all I really had to do was write down what I would say in his place. Writing someone as sweet as Joshua is much harder. Let me know how I did.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p><em>So twice five miles of fertile ground<em>

_With walls and towers were girdled round:_

_And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,_

_Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree..._

_-"Kubla Khan" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

2008

During free time, when my classmates went outside to play, I holed up in the school's library. It was my sanctuary and my escape. I could read about other places far away from here, full of people who were just as flawed as me. Pain was always a given with outsiders when they were injured. If a character was shot in an adventure story or broke a bone in some mishap, I winced in sympathy with their groans.

But they weren't like me. Not really. If I read about someone getting sick, I was in the dark. I was never sick a day in my life. Never even had so much as an ear infection or a cold. I didn't know what it was like to feel feverish or queasy. I never had to deal with a runny, stopped-up nose. I only coughed or sneezed if smoke or dust was blown into my face. Being sick was as alien a concept for me as pain was to other Familiars.

I was a freak in either world.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

Joshua managed to untangle himself from the dozen or so kids, who instantly ran off, already taken up with some other game. When he stood he was so tall I had to crane my neck to look at him. This would have been intimidating, but his face was so open and friendly I couldn't be scared. It would be like running away from a giant teddy bear.

I smiled up at him, "Hi there. I'm Skye."

"Joshua," he thrust out his hand. I swear I could feel the crushing strength of it, but his grip was gentle. After he released my hand, he lowered his eyes bashfully. "You're reporter?"

"What gave me away?" I asked, adjusting my camera's strap. Joshua grinned, showing off his pointed teeth.

"I do pictures, too," he told me, "I paint."

My eyebrows rose. "Oh, so you're _that_ Joshua!" He was one of the most prolific and best-selling artists in Terminal City. His abstracts were known to go for as much as twenty grand in some of the more upscale galleries. "Maybe you'll let me see some of your paintings?"

He nodded with so much enthusiasm his long hair flew into his face. He brushed it aside absently. "I have some in my home. Could show you now."

"No way," Mole suddenly interrupted, startling us both. It says a lot when you forget there's a lizard-man standing next to you. "I'm supposed to show this human around and I wanna get it over with as fast as possible."

"I'm beginning to think you don't like me," I remarked. Mole did what his face seemed to do best and scowled.

I turned back to Joshua. "I'll be around for the next month. That oughta give us plenty of time for you to show me your work."

"Okay!" he beamed, "Later, then."

"So, where to next?" I asked Mole.

Before he could answer Joshua started jumping up and down, waving one hand like a kid in class. "Ooh! Ooh!"

Mole rolled his eyes. "For god's sake! What is it?"

"Applewood! Show her Applewood Library!"

I cocked an eyebrow. I loved reading, but I didn't see myself getting that worked up about a library. "It's a nice library, then?"

Mole actually smirked. "Sure, why not," he said, ignoring my question. He jerked his head in a come-along gesture. "Let's go."

"Can Joshua come?" the dog-man asked.

"Course you can," I said and he surprised me by taking my hand. His palm was warm and thickly padded, a little like a paw. While we walked he was so excited he'd occasionally hop like an overeager puppy. I'm sure if he had a tail it would have been wagging like crazy.

It took a while to get there on foot, but once the library came into view I forgot all about my tired feet.

"Oh..._wow_."

The building used to be a plain three-story made of dull brown bricks. Above the main entrance I could just make out a faded sign that said APPLEWOOD AG-VANCEMENT. The second word was sloppily crossed out and replaced with a spray-painted LIBRARY.

"Place used to specialize in agriculture," Mole explained, "Trying to make crops bigger, better, and faster growing. When Terminal City was evacuated whatever they were working on here must've leaked out. People noticed when spring came that the weeds grew way faster here than anywhere else, so somebody got the bright idea to scatter a bunch of seeds around and see what happened."

What happened was a riot of plants that threatened to take over the whole block. The building itself was almost swallowed up by thick vines; only the windows and doors were kept clear. I saw bunches of plump grapes, strawberries, peas, cucumbers, and squash. On the grounds surrounding the building were a variety of vegetables, including cornstalks twelve feet high, tomatoes, and different kinds of lettuces and cabbage. Everything grew bigger than normal and showed no signs of slowing down, not even the crops that should have been out of season.

"This is incredible!" I used up the rest of the roll in my camera and quickly switched it out.

"Should see inside," Joshua said, beckoning me to follow him to the main door.

My jaw fell open at the sight indoors and I laughed in amazement. There was a big open space in the center to allow light from the skylight on the ceiling to reach all the way to the ground floor, and getting the full benefit of the sun's rays was a huge apple tree, so tall its highest leaves brushed against the reinforced glass panels on the ceiling. I saw Transgenics lounging in the branches—mostly feline and monkey hybrids—dozing, snacking on apples, or reading. Because this place might have started out as a lab, but now there were shelves and shelves of books on every level, most of them draped with more fruit-bearing vines. Instead of carpet or tile, the floor was covered in soft grass and clumps of herbs. Nut and berry bushes sprouted in random places, and someone had created a little artificial stream than wound through the place.

"I can't believe this!" I gushed, frantically snapping off photos, "This is the coolest library I've ever seen!"

Even Mole looked pleased with my reaction. "The tree was already here. Everything else grew in just the last few months. We still don't know what the hell's causing it all. Every time somebody tried growing seeds from the plants here somewhere else, they just come up normal."

"A lot of our food comes from here now," Joshua said, "Not contaminated. Even Ordinaries can eat it."

"So, it's a community garden. Why make it into a library?"

Mole shrugged. "Why not?" he asked, defensive, "It's nice."

Nicer than anything they ever had back at Manticore, I was sure. Or out in the Ordinary world, for that matter.

I plucked a strawberry off a window ledge and took a bite. It was perfect.

* * *

><p>Joshua told me about the months he lived in his "Father's" abandoned house after Manticore was destroyed. Whenever Max wasn't there to keep him company, he spent his lonely hours reading the books he found there. He loved reading almost as much as he loved painting.<p>

"Who's Father?" I asked.

We were wandering down one of the aisles of the Library, which was more like a stroll through a very unusual park. Mole trailed behind us, his sawed-off shotgun resting on his shoulder like always. I was beginning to wonder if he slept with that gun.

Joshua indicated himself and the other Transgenics around us. "Father made us. Made Manticore, before government took it from him."

"He was the founder of Manticore?"

"Yes," he nodded, "Father made me first. No barcode, see?" He turned and swept his long hair aside to show me his unmarked neck.

I smiled. "Funny, I never figured you for the oldest."

Joshua gave a small chuckle at that and it occurred to me that he was probably much smarter than I might've given him credit for.

"Father had to leave," he continued, "So he took us to basement and told us to lay low until he came back. But he didn't come back."

"'Us'?"

"Me and Isaac, my brother." That handful of words brought such sadness to his face that whatever other questions I had about his brother died in my throat. Instead, I laid my hand on his arm. He looked at me and smiled at my attempt to comfort him.

I changed the subject, "Since you've read a lot, why don't you tell me what your favorite book is."

Joshua's grin broadened—he smiled so easily—and he took my hand and guided me through the maze of shelves with easy familiarity. We stopped in front of a row of old dusty volumes and he pulled down a slim novel. One look at the title and I burst out laughing.

"_The Island of Doctor Moreau_? You're kidding!"

"Not kidding," he insisted, hugging the book to his chest, "It's good."

"I've always been partial to _The Time Machine_ myself." I turned to Mole. "What about you? Got any favorite reads you'd like to share?"

The lizard-man switched his unlit cigar stub to the other side of his mouth. "No comment."

I snorted in amusement. "Okay. Let's go see what some of these other folks have to say."

We wound up spending the rest of the afternoon there, then it was time for me to go. I couldn't hide my disappointment; the Library had quickly become my favorite place in Terminal City. Even Mole seemed reluctant to leave. Joshua just looked sad that I couldn't stay any longer. He tagged along all the way to the gate.

"It was nice meeting you, Joshua," I said, shaking his paw-like hand again.

"Nice meeting you," he replied, then shuffled his feet nervously, "Can I come with you again tomorrow?"

I blinked and felt a delighted smile tug at my lips. "Well, sure. I mean, if you don't have anything better to do."

He shook his shaggy head. "Nothing better. Joshua likes showing Skye Terminal City."

"That makes one of us," Mole mumbled in the background. We both ignored him.

"Guess I'll see you tomorrow, then," I grinned, headed for the open gate. "'Bye, Joshua. Mole, it's been a pleasure."

"Yeah, right."

Out in the Ordinary world, I got into my rental car and drove for the hotel where I was staying. My head was buzzing with everything I was going to write once I dug out my laptop. Thanks to the mental training exercises I received growing up, I didn't need to take notes like most other journalists did. My superior memory didn't need any reminders.

Unfortunately, I didn't get to write anything that first evening. Pretty much the second I got to my room my cellphone rang. The caller ID said "unknown" and my stomach gave a little twist. I pressed the send button and pressed the receiver to my ear. "Hello?"

_"Fe'nos tol,"_ a woman's voice greeted me.

Just like that, my good mood evaporated and the tension I always felt among my own kind returned. I repressed a sigh, _"Fe'nos tol."_

_"A member of the Conclave wishes a meeting."_ I wasn't fooled by her wording; it wasn't a request.

"Where?"

She gave me an address, said a cursory farewell, and hung up. I tucked my phone into my pocket, grabbed my keys, and left the hotel. Ten minutes later I parked in front of a small but high-quality restaurant, the kind of place where the staff understood the value of discretion. In spite of the fact that I obviously wasn't properly dressed for the place, the _maitre d'_ led me to a table without a word. A woman was already seated there, short hair, somewhere in her fifties. It took me a second to recognize her; Moorhead. Once upon a time she was my favorite teacher and a minor cleric at Brookridge Academy. Now she was headmistress and a prominent member of the Conclave.

Her smile was warm and friendly, like I remembered. She waited until the _maitre d'_ made a graceful exit before greeting me. _"Fe'nos tol."_

_"Fe'nos tol,"_ I repeated, not even hiding the fact that I was relieved it was her I was meeting. In the time I spent at the school, Moorhead was the only person who showed me any real kindness. Even though I knew it was mostly because she pitied me, I was grateful that she never used my defect against me. After I stopped talking to my mother, she became the closest thing I had to family.

"It's good to see you again, dear. I've been following your career with some interest," she said while flipping through the menu, "I'm impressed with your work. You've done very well for yourself, and the information you've gathered for us over the years has been very helpful."

Her praise brought a flush of pride to my cheeks. "Thank you."

"So tell me, how was your first day in enemy territory?"

"The Transgenics have been very welcoming, for the most part."

She nodded sagely, "That's to be expected. The Transgenic filth need to make a good impression. They can't afford any more bad publicity."

I grabbed a breadstick from the little basket beside us and broke it in half. "I was amazed at how much they've fixed up the place in only a year."

"Thanks to their military discipline, do doubt."

"No doubt," I smirked, thinking of the Library. There was nothing militaristic about that place.

"I'm afraid there isn't much I can tell you just yet," I said apologetically.

Moorhead waved it off. "It was only your first day. Better you ingratiate yourself to them before you start to root out their exploitable weaknesses."

We paused the conversation while a dapper waiter came by to take our orders. Once he was gone Moorhead said, "The Conclave may have another task for you."

I broke the two halves of the breadstick into smaller pieces. "Which is?"

"You will be informed once we have made our decision. But be ready."

I nodded. "I will."

Another comforting smile. "Your unquestioning loyalty to your people has always been a source of admiration for me. You've overcome your tragic shortcomings to become a credit to all Familiars."

I bit my lip and pulverized the dry pieces of bread in my fist. "It's my duty. I'm honored to follow it."


	4. Confessor

**A/N:** Two chapters in one day! That oughta make up for the holiday absence. :-)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Above all things let us never forget that mankind<em>

_constitutes one great brotherhood; all born to_

_encounter suffering and sorrow, and therefore_

_bound to sympathize with each other."_

_-Alfred Lord Tennyson_

2009

The Pulse hardly seemed to have any affect in my little corner of the world. We knew about it, of course, but it was like hearing about a disaster taking place in another country. It didn't make any difference in our lives at Brookridge.

For me, the year marked when I got my first camera. Moorhead sometimes visited with me when I hung out in the library and noticed how I was taking an interest in books on photography. When my next birthday came around she gave me an old camera she hadn't used in years. Aside from being a little dusty, it was in perfect condition. I think I went through twenty rolls of film the first week alone.

I signed up for an extracurricular photography class and learned to develop my film. I also learned about the importance of lighting, contrast, and the proper use of different lenses. The instructor said I was a natural.

Later, Moorhead encouraged me to take a class on journalism. While I always got top grades, like all my classmates, journalism was where I really excelled. By the time I graduated I'd won just about every State and national award, and had my pick of universities.

One thing that always amazed me was the things people said to me when I interviewed them. They told me things they never would have said even to their closest friends and family. It was like I had this invisible field that relaxed their inhibitions. My college instructors told me this was normal. Sometimes people talked because they wanted to be famous, but that wasn't the only reason. The truth is, it's easier to share your dark secrets with a stranger than with someone you know, as long as they don't act judgmental. It's why priests and shrinks exist, and why a good reporter with a nonthreatening face will always get the story.

By the time I went to college I had a newer, more professional camera, but I never got rid of the one Moorhead gave me. I still use it to this day for taking personal photos. Even after all that's happened since then, I know I'll always be grateful to Moorhead for steering me towards this path. It's taken me to places I never would have seen otherwise, and helped me eventually find what I wanted and needed most.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

After parking the car, I went around the back and got a large cardboard box out of the trunk. It was heavy, but that wasn't a problem for my enhanced Familiar strength. I hefted the box over to the gate where the guards let me in without a pause. After a week, they were used to my coming and going.

I went straight to the control center, where an eager Luke snatched the box from my arms. "Is this it? You brought 'em?"

"Why don't you open the box and find out?" I asked with a laugh.

He practically ran with the box to the nearest table and set it down, ripping open the top without bothering to cut through the packing tape. Inside were dozens of copies of that week's issue of _Modern Events_ featuring the first in the series of articles about Terminal City. Everyone in the room snatched up magazines like they were candy and started flipping through the pages in hopes of finding themselves in one of the photos.

"Hey, check it out, Dix," Luke showed his friend one page in particular, "We got a column just for us!"

The two of them had made such an impression I knew I had to feature them in their own inset. I watched the two of them beam over the short article, pointing out different parts that they liked and preening over their photos.

"Like their egos needed the boost," Mole grumbled, paging through another magazine with a suspicious frown.

"Don't worry," I assured him, "I didn't sneak anything about you in there."

The lizard-man grunted.

"You sneak anything about Joshua in there?" Joshua asked, bringing over his own copy.

"I wouldn't say 'sneak.'" I took the magazine from him and paged through until I found the pictures of him playing with the kids on the day we met. Handing it back to him, I saw his face light up.

"First time you've seen your picture?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Man took picture when I was looking for Father. Sold it to _New World Weekly_. Made me look like a monster."

I remembered seeing that somewhere, probably while I was grocery shopping and passed by the tabloids on the way to the register. I thought it was fake, like all their photos.

"Well, I don't think you look like a monster in these."

"No," he smiled at me, "Thank you."

The two of us had became fast friends in the time I spent in Terminal City. Everywhere Mole and I went, Joshua was almost guaranteed to follow. Mole griped about it at first, calling the dog-man a third wheel, but after a while he figured out that with Joshua around he didn't have to talk to me as much, so he stopped complaining and stuck to watching me for any suspicious behavior. Mole was the only one who still didn't trust me. But then, he didn't really trust anybody who wasn't Transgenic, so I didn't take it personal.

"Hey," Luke said, thrusting his magazine at me, "Could ya sign this? That way I can prove to everybody I knew you!"

"Sure," I chuckled, digging a pen from my bag. Some of the others asked me to sign theirs as well. "You guys will make sure Max and Alec get their copies?"

"Absolutely," said Dix.

"Great!" I turned to my two escorts. "Let's go."

For part of the next issue I was going to write about the other residents of Transgenic City; the homeless men and women who literally had nowhere else to go. When the Transgenics took over, instead of kicking the Ordinary vagrants out, they helped them move to one of the relatively uncontaminated parts of the town and fixed up a couple of the buildings for them to live in. The Transgenics even made sure they got food and water.

"So, why were they allowed to stay?" I asked while we walked.

Surprisingly, it was Mole who answered, "'Cause when the first of us came here they minded their own business. They didn't try to run us off or attack us."

"Live and let live," I mused, thinking it would make a good title. I looked at Mole. "And you're okay with having Ordinaries for neighbors?"

He shrugged. "They've been treated like shit same as us. Long as they're not hurting anybody there's no reason not to let 'em stay. Plus I was outvoted."

There weren't that many of them; less than a hundred. And most of them were either alcoholics and junkies or mentally impaired, or both. The first one we passed was an old (or old-looking) woman sitting on the curb holding an argument with her invisible friend. I decided not to interrupt her, but snapped off a quick picture in passing. I was surprised by how clean she was, considering. The next two we met were more promising. They were an old man with a mangy little dog in his arms and a younger guy with his hair standing out in a tangled Afro. The old man was little more than a scarecrow, skinny and brittle. He was chiding his dog for some kind of misbehavior; he called it Bongo. While at first glance the younger man looked healthier, I saw the yellowish cast to his skin and eyes that meant jaundice. But at least he wasn't strung out or schizophrenic. When we approached he gave me the once over and asked, "Sure you're in the right neighborhood, hon?"

"I'm sure," I answered, "My name's Skye Danziger and I work for _Modern Events_."

"Oh, yeah! The reporter lady," he flashed a mouthful of off-color teeth, "What're you doin' in our neck of the woods?"

"I'm here to find out what it's like for you living in Terminal City with the Transgenics."

"Well," he rubbed the back of his neck, "I wouldn't say we live _with_ 'em. Everybody kinda sticks to their own around here."

I indicated his jacket. "Looks like your clothes are in good shape."

"Yeah, they bring us new clothes, make sure we get enough food. Hell, that little bald guy even hooked our building up to the power grid."

"So, things are pretty good here."

The younger guy snorted, "Better 'n out there, lemme tell ya. Reason we all came here was 'cause we were tired of getting beat up all the time."

"By the people who weren't homeless?"

"Cops, too! We were just human punching bags to 'em. The Trannies, though, they treat us decent, not like we're garbage." He flashed his discolored grin at Joshua and Mole. Joshua smiled back, while Mole's expression was indifferent.

I held up my camera. "Mind if I take your pictures?"

The man beamed and slung an arm over the old guy's shoulders. "Hey, Joe, we're gonna be famous!"

The old man, Joe, patted the thin wisps on his head. "How's my hair?"

"It's fine." The younger guy rolled his eyes.

"Say cheese, Bongo!" The old man held his dog up between him and his friend, who wrinkled his nose at the animal. Bongo yipped and wagged his scrawny tail.

The shutter of the camera clicked. "Thanks, guys. I already got Joe's name," I said to the younger man, "Mind if I ask yours?"

"Oh, sure. I'm Mike."

"Nice to meet you, Mike," I said, shaking his hand, "And you, Joe."

The old man suddenly pointed a trembling, bony finger at Mole. "Hey, you're the lizard-man!" he declared. As if nobody could tell. "Sorry 'bout your panther friend. She was an okay lady, even if she did try to eat Bongo more than once."

I looked at Mole, ready for one of his snarky comebacks, only to see his face become totally unreadable. Without a word, he turned and walked away. Joshua and I exchanged a puzzled glance, then I asked Mike, "What's that about a panther?"

The homeless man looked uncomfortable. "Oh, um. Well, for a while there was this rumor going around 'bout a lizard-man and a panther-lady living in the sewers."

"They weren't rumors!" Joe said indignantly, "I saw 'em myself! But you didn't believe me."

"How many times I gotta apologize for that?" Mike snapped, "Anyway, the panther-lady died. Lizard-man found her body and brought her up from the sewers. He was spittin' nails, too. Said somebody stabbed her and cut the barcode off her neck."

I drew back, appalled. "Did he ever find out who did it?"

"Nah. He knew it wasn't any of us, though. I mean, look at us," he held out his arms, "Do we look like we could take on a Trannie?"

I had to admit the chances of that were pretty slim. I thanked them for their time and Joshua and I followed after Mole. We caught up with him a few seconds later. He was waiting at a street corner staring ahead at nothing.

"You okay?" Joshua asked.

"Fine," Mole answered dully.

Joshua placed a large hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about your friend-"

Mole angrily shook him off. "Look, could we just not talk about it in front of her?" he pointed at me.

"I won't write anything about this," I promised.

The lizard-man glared at me. "I'm not gonna talk about my friend's murder just so you can feel sorry for me. I'm not interested in your goddamned pity."

I shook my head. "I don't pity you. I genuinely care that you're upset-"

He stopped me with an angry snarl. "You know what," he backed up, "I'm done. Josh, you can babysit her from now on. I'm sick of looking at her." He turned and stormed off, leaving me and Joshua staring after him. Once we understood that he really wasn't coming back, we finished our tour of the area without him.

A cloud seemed to hang over us the rest of the day. I hadn't lied before; I really did feel for Mole. If there was anything I could understand, it was pain.

As Joshua walked with me on my way to the gate, I remarked, "You look like something's eating you."

Joshua glanced at me sidelong, then looked away. He walked with his head down and his hands stuffed in his pockets, his broad shoulders slumped under some unseen weight. I linked my arm with his; he was so into casual contact, it wasn't long before I got used to him holding my hand or putting his arm around me. I even initiated it myself, sometimes, like now.

"You know, if there's something you wanna tell me, but don't want me to write about, all you have to do is say 'off the record' first." I fell silent, waiting.

A minute later Joshua sighed and muttered, "Off the record..."

"Yes?"

"I think I might know who killed panther-lady."

I looked at him in surprise. "Who?"

He pressed his lips together, then said, "Alec."

I froze mid-step. "_Alec?_ Why would he do that?"

Joshua told me about Alec's capture by federal agents. How they implanted a tiny explosive in him and told him to kill three Transgenics or die himself. He was supposed to bring them the barcodes as proof.

I'd been a journalist long enough to know the horrible things people did, especially those with the authority to get away with it. I wasn't surprised, but I was still upset to hear about this. I figured the day I stopped getting upset about these things I would have to find another line of work or risk losing whatever humanity I had left. Some kinds of pain aren't worth losing.

"You won't tell," Joshua pleaded, "If Mole finds out, he'll kill Alec."

"Don't worry. He won't find out from me."

We reached the gate and paused to say our goodbyes. "Guess it's just you and me tomorrow," I said, "Unless Mole cools off before then."

Joshua's mouth quirked. "Mole's desert ops. He doesn't cool off."

"Right," I chuckled, "Seeya tomorrow, then."

"Seeya."

I turned to leave when Joshua suddenly raised his voice, "Um..."

"What, Joshua?"

"Uh..." He fidgeted, looking down at his shoes, off to the side, at the cloudy Seattle sky. "W-would you liketohavedinnerwithme?" he blurted in a single breath.

It was so unexpected I was caught speechless for a second. "I... Yeah, I'd love to," I heard myself say.

"Really?" he brightened.

"Sure," I grinned, "It'll give me a chance to finally see some of your new paintings."

Joshua looked about ready to jump for joy. "Great! Do you like macaroni and cheese?"

I laughed, thinking of the boxes of Kraft I had stuffed in my kitchen cupboard back home. "I _love_ mac and cheese."

"With little hotdogs?"

"Yes, but do you know what's even better? Bacon."

Joshua gasped like a mad scientist about to shout eureka. "Bacon! Yes! I'll use bacon."

"Okay, then. So after you show me around some more tomorrow we'll stop by your place for dinner."

"Tomorrow," he nodded, "Okay. Goodbye, Skye."

"Goodbye, Joshua." And I left Terminal City feeling a little better than I had a moment ago.


	5. Heresy

**A/N:** Glad to see people are reading what I'm putting down. Either I'm on the right track or you guys are really bored. ;-)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p><em>He flexed his muscles to keep his flock of sheep in line<em>

_He made a virus that would kill off all the swine_

_His perfect kingdom of killing, suffering, and pain_

_Demands devotion, atrocities done in his name_

_-Nine Inch Nails, "Heresy"_

2015

The Conclave chose a husband for me while I was in college. Apparently, they didn't want to waste any time passing on my immune system. He was a Familiar named Owen. We got along well enough, but there was never anything approaching affection between us, let alone love. Still, we were obedient Familiars and got married. There were worse ways a girl could lose her virginity, I suppose. Owen was both patient and gentle, and he even helped me enjoy it to some degree. But again, there weren't what I'd call any fireworks.

When we weren't trying to get pregnant, Owen and I led separate lives. I'm still not completely sure what he did for a living, though I know it had something to do with electronics. We were like roommates who occasionally had sex together. We weren't happy, but we weren't totally miserable.

After a year of trying without success to get pregnant, we went to consult an expert who turned out to be Doctor Jackson. He was the one who figured out the problem. As it turned out my perfect immune system, which our leaders wanted so badly to duplicate in my children, was the very thing that prevented me from ever having them. It destroyed Owen's sperm before it ever reached the ova. Jackson tried a variety of ways to get my body to accept fertilization, but nothing worked. And since we couldn't have children together, there was no point continuing our sham marriage. Thankfully, the Conclave agreed, and Owen and I divorced amicably. We never saw each other again. Sometimes I wonder if another woman was chosen for him, and if they were happy.

College became my only comfort while men I never wanted paraded in and out of my life. I finally couldn't take it anymore and told Jackson to find another way. I was tired of being the Conclave's whore. The doctor grudgingly agreed to artificial insemination, which in the traditionalist Conclave's eyes flirted with heresy. We were a culture based solely on selective breeding, the only science involving ovulation cycles and charting people's lineages. In vitro fertilization and genetic engineering were considered perversions, and the offspring they produced abominations. It was a belief I used to share. The idea of something unnatural created in a test tube being allowed to exist made my skin crawl.

I'm not sure when that belief changed.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

It was only while I was driving back to the hotel that it occurred to me to wonder what the hell I was thinking. Ingratiating myself to the Transgenics was one thing, but accepting a dinner invitation from one of them? How was I supposed to justify that to Moorhead the next time I saw her?

Then a treasonous thought whispered, _Why tell her?_

I shook my head in disbelief. You don't keep things from the Conclave! And even if I did decide not to tell Moorhead—which I wouldn't—if she somehow found out, I'd be in an even worse situation than if I'd come clean in the first place.

I'll cancel, I decided. If Moorhead called to set up another meeting, I would tell her about Joshua's invitation and explain I accepted because I was caught off-guard and was planning to make up some excuse tomorrow about why I couldn't make it after all. That sounded plausible.

Relieved that I came up with a solution, I drove the rest of the way to the hotel a little calmer. As it turned out, though, Moorhead didn't call that night.

The next day I checked myself in the mirror before heading out to Terminal City. I told myself it was because I didn't want to look like a total hag when I gently turned Joshua down. My long black hair was tied back in a ponytail, like usual. I had on my favorite long-sleeved shirt with the green and white pattern, blue jeans, and comfortable sneakers. Satisfied, I left the hotel and drove out to TC, parking in my usual spot outside the wall.

Joshua was waiting for me at the gate, as eager as the puppy he resembled. "Here," he thrust something into my hand. It was a bouquet of multicolored daisies. "Original Cindy said I should give flowers."

"Original Cindy?" I stared at the daisies, wondering if I should give them back since I was planning to back out of dinner.

"Max's friend," he explained.

"Is she another X5?"

Joshua shook his shaggy head. "No, she's Ordinary. She calls Max her Boo."

I felt a hysterical giggle coming on and pushed it down. "Um, Joshua-"

"And Logan gave Joshua a bottle of wine for dinner, though he said he doesn't really know what goes with macaroni and cheese."

I felt like I was mired in quicksand. "And who's Logan?" I asked weakly.

"Max's boyfriend. He's Ordinary, too. He lives right over there," he pointed outside the gate at an old building located not too far from the wall.

"How many people know you asked me to dinner?"

Joshua shrugged. "Just friends. Why?"

I groaned. Joshua had a _lot_ of friends. So much for being discreet.

"Look, about dinner..."

And there it was, that crestfallen look. Even though I knew it was coming, it still hurt to see that expression on his gentle dog face. I could tell what he was thinking; that I didn't want to spend my off time with a freak. It only made my guilt worse knowing that he wasn't completely wrong. By most people's standards, Familiar and Ordinary, he _was_ a freak. But then, so was I.

"...I was just wondering if it was alright for me to take some pictures of your newest paintings," I heard myself say, "Some artists are touchy about that kind of thing."

Joshua's expression went from downtrodden to elated like the flick of a switch. "No! I mean, pictures are okay."

"Alright, then. Let's go interview some people and then head over to your place."

It was my fault for getting attached to him. Now I was stuck.

* * *

><p>It rained, which was usually a given in Seattle. I dug a collapsible umbrella from my bag while Joshua romped happily in the wet. Strangely, he didn't smell at all like wet dog. Whenever I needed my hands free to use my camera, Joshua would gallantly hold the umbrella for me. His long hair hung in damp ropes from his head. Towards the end of the day, he shook himself just like a dog, spraying water everywhere, including on me. I let out a startled yelp and shielded the camera with my body. "Hey!"<p>

Joshua's whole body went into a slump. "Sorry."

It wasn't possible to stay annoyed when he looked like a sad Basset hound. "It's okay," I smiled, "I was mostly worried about the camera, but it's fine."

"I'll be more careful," he promised, still looking sad.

"I think that's enough work for today," I suggested, "Why don't you go ahead and show me to your place?"

I'd come to appreciate his sudden mood changes. Though mostly human, Joshua was still dog enough to live very much in the now. His unhappy mood slid off him and was forgotten, just like that. He took my hand and eagerly led me through the maze of streets until we came to yet another old brick building. I would have pegged it for Joshua's home anyway, because just about the whole building was painted in wild splashes of colors. It made the neighboring buildings look that much drabber in comparison.

Most of the interior was just an empty factory of some kind. There were rows of heavy machines gathering dust and cobwebs. They must have made a hell of a racket when they were used. Joshua led me upstairs to where the manager's office was. It was pretty roomy, even with all the furniture and art supplies everywhere. One entire wall was a huge window that overlooked the dead factory. The manager's desk was long gone, replaced with a king size bed that had to have been brought up in pieces and reassembled. The original bookshelves and leather chair remained, the chair leaking stuffing from a corner, the shelves crammed with books that had nothing to do with whatever business this place once housed. A little kitchen area was set up in a corner; just a dorm fridge, an electric range, some pots and pans and utensils. And in the middle of the office-turned-apartment was a small table draped in a checked cloth and with two chairs set at either end. Two places were already set and there were a couple of old brass candlesticks Joshua scrounged from somewhere waiting to be lit.

"This is nice," I said, and I meant it, "Real cozy."

"Cozy," Joshua grinned. He took my daisy bouquet and put them in a chipped vase, then gestured to the kitchen area, "I need to fix dinner."

"While you do that, is it alright if I look around?"

"Okay."

While he started cooking up the mac and cheese, I wandered over to the far wall where rows of canvases leaned. I looked through them. There were splashes and smears, random brushstrokes, and layers of crumpled paper and small objects painted over so only their shapes remained. I normally wasn't into this kind of art—I always thought a preschooler with fingerpaint could accomplish the same thing—but Joshua's personality shone through so clearly. It was like instead of capturing images he was giving shape to his emotions. The ones with heavy dollops of bright red and orange were done when he was angry, while the earth tones done in swirling brushstrokes obviously meant sadness. Most of the paintings, though, their bright colors were flung across the canvas in wild abandon, a pure and innocent joy. I understood now why Joshua's paintings were so popular. I wanted to buy one myself, just to have a little piece of him I could take home. I satisfied myself with taking photos of them instead.

"These are really amazing."

"Thank you!" I heard pride and shyness in his voice.

I looked through just about all of them when I got to the last two canvases. These were set a little apart from the others, and when I turned them to face me, I saw that they weren't abstracts at all, but portraits. The first was a young black woman. Her eyes were painted a subtle green-brown color, and her expression could only be described as kind. The other looked like a self-portrait at first, but I noticed some of the details didn't quite match. The nose was a tad broader and flatter than Joshua's, the hair darker, almost black.

"Is this your brother, Joshua?"

I heard his heavy footsteps and then Joshua was beside me, staring at the portrait. He nodded solemnly. "Isaac. Little brother."

"What happened to him?" I asked in a quiet voice, even though it was just the two of us here. Joshua's mood made it feel like we were standing vigil.

Joshua's answer reinforced that feeling. He turned his eyes away from the painting and murmured, "He died."

"I'm sorry." I didn't ask for details. However it happened, I knew it was still too painful for him to talk about. I pointed to the other portrait. "And who's she?"

Joshua smiled, but even that was tinged with sadness. "Annie. My friend. She was blind, so she didn't know what I was. What I am. Not until later." Tears welled in his blue eyes. "Sh-she was killed. Cops blamed me. I didn't do it, but it was my fault she died. Alec warned me it was too dangerous to see her. Should have listened."

I'd thought he was so innocent, even naïve. It never occurred to me that he could have suffered tragedies of his own, just like the other Transgenics.

I thought about my father, who I barely remembered anymore. I thought about how my mother couldn't stop crying, even when she tried to put on a brave face when she told me he wasn't coming home ever again. A lump grew in my throat and I turned away from the portraits, putting my arms around Joshua's waist and resting my head against his broad chest. I felt him stiffen for the briefest instant, then his arms went around me.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, "I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories."

Joshua patted my back with his big, gentle hands. "It's okay. You didn't know."

His stomach suddenly growled so loud it was like a grizzly had snuck into the room. We both laughed.

"Time to eat," Joshua announced.

"So, that's it!" I poked his belly, "You got your own built-in timer."

He grinned and led me to the table. Even held out my chair for me.

"Such a gentleman."

He lit the candles before bringing out the food. He'd used bacon like I suggested. I could tell he wasn't totally comfortable with using a fork; another detail about him I found endearing.

Careful, Skye, you don't want to get too attached. Never mind that I would be leaving in a couple of weeks, if the Conclave found out I was letting myself get emotionally close to a Transgenic, they'd probably lock me away in that insane asylum I heard rumors about. The kind of rumors you hope are just exaggerations, but suspect they're not.

"You're not eating," Joshua's worried voice cut through my reverie, "Did I overcook it?"

"It's fine," I reassured him, then tried to change the subject, "Seen Mole around lately?"

The dog-man shrugged. "Still upset about us talking about panther-lady."

"Where they really close?"

"Don't know. Mole doesn't talk about himself. Says it's nobody's damn business." At that last part he changed the pitch of his voice so it sounded eerily like the lizard-man's.

I laughed, "Better not let him catch you imitating him like that."

"I won't," Joshua vowed. Not even a giant like him was willing to tangle with Mole.

The rest of dinner went smoothly. We drank the wine Logan had provided (luckily, neither of us was prone to getting drunk) and talked about nothing all that important; I shared some of my funnier experiences at my job; Joshua talked about his first Halloween—"Tricks and treats!"—and how he discovered his first set of art supplies in his father's basement and a mishap with a tube of paint labeled "chocolate mousse." I almost needed the Heimlich maneuver, I laughed so hard.

Then I noticed he medallion around his neck. I'd seen it on him before; he never seemed to take it off. It was a flat, smooth stone with its edges carefully shaped into a hexagon. I hadn't thought anything of it until now because I only saw its blank side. But at some point during dinner it turned and I saw the symbol etched on it; the inverted caduceus, the emblem of the Familiars. The same symbol I wore on my forearm ever since my initiation. Without thinking I reached over and cupped the medallion in my hand. "Where'd you get this?"

"From Father," Joshua replied.

"Father?" I wondered if I really wanted to know. But Joshua told me anyway.

"Father, Sand-man."

Sandeman. Every Familiar knew that name the same way every Christian knew Judas. Sandeman the traitor, the heretic. If he made Joshua and all Transgenics, it explained why the Conclave hated them so much. Not just because they were abominations, but because they were abominations created by one of us in defiance of all our doctrines. Like spitting in God's eye.

I let the medallion drop from my hand and tried to put on a casual smile. "It's pretty."

"Thank you." Joshua grinned in that bashful way of his and I knew he didn't suspect anything.

I set my fork down on my empty plate, took a last sip of wine, and stood. "This was great, Joshua. Thanks."

The dog-man got out of his chair as well and came around the table to stand in front of me. "You had a good time?" he asked, a little anxious.

"Yeah, I did." And I was surprised to realize it was true. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so relaxed with someone. Something in Joshua's personality always put me at ease, like I didn't have to hide anything from him-although I did.

"Then," he twisted his napkin nervously, "would you like to come over for dinner again?"

_Say no,_ my conscience screamed,_ You can't let yourself care. He's an abomination._ I smiled, "Only if I get to cook next time."

"Okay!" Joshua attacked me with a spontaneous hug and I couldn't help but hug back. He was insidious that way.

"Walk me to the gate?" I asked, my voice muffled by his embrace.

Joshua released me with a nod and blew out the candles. I gathered up my bag and camera, then we left his apartment together. The rain had stopped by then. Everything had that clean scent that, unfortunately, never lasted. When we reached the gate Joshua gave me another hug. I didn't even try to fight it. I knew I was in serious trouble then.


	6. Defects

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p><em>That which is marred at birth Time shall not mend,<em>

_Nor water out of bitter well make clean;_

_All evil thing returneth at the end,_

_Or elseway walketh in our blood unseen._

_-"Gertrude's Prayer" by Rudyard Kipling_

2016

Understand, I _was_ faithful in our beliefs. Even when I was being used like livestock, it was never my religion that I resented.

"From my father's father. For my sons." "From my mother's mother. For my daughters." These phrases held a deep meaning. They reminded all Familiars to revere the ancestors for the sacrifices they made for us and to think how our actions best served not only ourselves, but our descendents as well. Even now, I think if Ordinaries had stuck to that attitude the world wouldn't have gotten so bad off.

Yet even at my most fervent, I never really looked at outsiders as a lesser race. Most Familiars didn't, believe it or not. We left it up to nature and fate to decide that, though we definitely stacked the odds in our favor with our generations of careful breeding. Still, there was always a chance. The only way any of us would know for sure was after the Coming. And that, I knew, would happen in my own lifetime.

Whatever happened, I knew I would survive, anyway. The plague could never touch me. The rest of my fellow Familiars, for all they saw me as defective, couldn't say the same. They could still get sick. The plague could return in some mutated form and kill them all. It was possible. Whenever I thought of this, especially when I was nursing a painful injury other Familiars would not even notice, it always brought me the slightest bit of smugness.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

Joshua wasn't able to be my escort for the day. His friend Rita, a noted art critic who also owned a gallery, convinced him to attend an opening of some of his latest work. I tried to imagine him in a tailored suit hobnobbing with the city's social elite with a straight face and just couldn't. I hoped somebody there took pictures. I would die for a few copies.

I could have gone it alone—I was familiar enough with the layout of TC by then—but I thought this might be a chance for me to mend a few fences. I walked into HQ with a rectangular wooden box tucked under my arm. All the usual people were there: Dix, Luke, some of the militia, and—sitting in a dark corner cleaning a gun—Mole.

"Hey, Skye!" Dix grinned from over by the monitors, "How was the date?"

"It wasn't a date," I answered smoothly, "It was just a nice dinner with a friend."

"Oh, really? 'Cause I heard something about flowers and wine..."

Luke, over by the police scanner, snickered.

I rolled my eyes. "Guys, this isn't high school. We're all adults, not a bunch of hormonal teens gossiping in a locker room."

"We never went to high school," Luke argued.

"Which means we have a lot of catching up to do in our social development," Dix sagely added.

I shook my head and walked away. "Well, have fun with that."

"We will!" they chimed.

I strode past chuckling men and women lounging in the mismatched furniture and approached Mole. He continued to clean the gun, pretending not to notice me. His hands moved with the ease of long practice; he probably could have done it in his sleep. The air around him was filled with the smell of gun oil mingled with the rank odor of the cheap cigar that jutted from the corner of his mouth.

"Hey," I said conversationally, "Joshua's at some gallery thing, so guess who gets to show me around today?"

"Somebody else," he muttered. At least he responded.

I held the box out to him. His gold eyes flickered towards it for a brief instant, then returned to the task in front of him. "What's that?"

"Peace offering," I answered, "I stopped by a tobacconist's on the way over. I admit I don't know anything about cigars, but the guy at the counter said these were pretty good." When he refused to show any interest, I waggled the box from side to side and cajoled in a singsong voice, "They're Do-min-i-can."

Again, his eyes darted towards the box; his only giveaway. I abruptly flung the box at him, just to see if I'd catch him unawares. He didn't even blink as his hand shot out and caught it.

"So, are you coming or not?" I asked.

"Not interested."

I arched an eyebrow. "Fine with me. Now I'll be free to carry out my nefarious plot to destroy Terminal City." With a smirk, I turned and headed for the exit. I was about halfway down the catwalk when I heard a pair of heavy boots clomping behind me and allowed myself a little smile of triumph.

Out on the street, the two of us walked in silence. I was not at all surprised to see Mole was toting his sawed-off shotgun. He also had a new cigar in his mouth. The tobacconist was right; the smoke wafting from it had a much nicer smell. The gray wisp rose up to blend with the overcast sky.

"So, what's the next article gonna be about?" the lizard-man asked wryly, "What all the hot young Trannies like to do on a Saturday night?"

"Today I'm going to ask random people how they wound up in TC. What brought them here and why they decided to stay."

"What for?"

"Because sharing stories is how people connect." I flashed a grin. "Otherwise, I'd be out of a job."

Mole grunted, "Least you're not pretending."

I frowned, puzzled. "Pretending what?"

"That you give a shit."

"What makes you think I don't?"

"Please," he scoffed, "You're just selling copy like every other reporter. And freaks make great copy, don't they?"

I shouldn't have been surprised at his cynical outlook. Bile and cigars seemed to be all that kept him going.

"I'm a journalist," I said.

Mole gave me a look. "'Scuse me?"

"You called me a reporter. Reporters are those plastic faces you see on TV with their shellacked hair and capped teeth and spa tans. _Journalists _are writers. Nobody sees us; they only see the stories. And how we write them tells others what kind of people we are." I gazed levelly at him. "You've read my articles, even though you'll probably deny it. Do I really come off as a sensationalist hack to you?"

He didn't answer. A few minutes later we met up with a 'Nomaly that I interviewed. He was a young twenty-something guy with black eyes and a mouthful of shark teeth. They made understanding him a bit tricky at first, but once I got used to how he sounded things went easier. I took his picture, thanked him, and we went our separate ways.

"Must have a hell of a good memory," Mole remarked, "I never saw you write anything down. Unless you got a tape recorder tucked away in that bag of yours."

I shook my head. "Notepads and recordings can be damaged or lost or confiscated. What's up here, though," I tapped a fingertip against my temple, "sticks with me always."

"Photographic memory," he smirked.

"Yeah," I chuckled, "It's a gift."

For the barest instant Mole's habitual mask of sarcasm fell away. "No. It's not."

Before I could think to say anything, a drop of water landed on my head.

"Dammit," Mole growled, pulling up his hood while more raindrops pattered around us.

"It's not so bad." I dug out the umbrella from my bag and unfurled it, holding it up to shield both of us. "Shouldn't last more than a couple of minutes."

"I hate the rain."

The corner of my mouth quirked. "And yet you live in Seattle."

Mole hunched his shoulders. "Yeah, well, all my stuff's here."

The rain lasted a little longer than I predicted. By the time it ended I'd interviewed two X6's, an X3, three 'Nomalies, and an albino-looking Arctic man who complained (while our breaths puffed out in clouds) that it was too damn hot for his liking.

Even though I was over the novelty-phase, I was still amazed by the variety of Transgenics I met. Manticore accomplished more in less than three decades than the Familiars did with millennia of selective breeding. Even most of the 'Nomalies were stronger and faster than any Ordinary. For the first time I wondered—_really_ wondered—why the Conclave was so dead-set against the use of modern science in the goal to create a perfect humanity. Instead of subjecting me to round after round of useless inseminations, my immune system could be singled out from my DNA and implanted into hundreds, _thousands_ of developing embryos. But that would never happen.

I shook out my umbrella and folded it back into its compact shape. Hoping to distract myself from my heretical thoughts, I turned to Mole and asked, "So, why _did_ you come to Seattle after Manticore was destroyed? Why not go somewhere you'd be more suited to, like Arizona?"

Mole took the cigar from his mouth and stared at it thoughtfully. "Wasn't my idea."

"Who's was it?" I asked with an itching suspicion, "The panther-lady's?"

Ash was flicked onto the damp sidewalk. "I called her Cat. Real original, I know," he said drily, "I guess she was Manticore's first attempt at the X-series, but there was way too much animal in her, so they locked her in the basement and forgot about her. She spent her whole life in a dark five-by-ten cell. Half the time the guards didn't feed her. She was scrawny as hell."

"She told you all that?"

He shook his scaly head. "She couldn't even talk. I don't know if it's because she didn't have the right equipment or 'cause nobody bothered to teach her." He looked at me, and for a second I swore his eyes glittered with tears that threatened to fall. "When she escaped, it was too much for her. She was scared shitless of everything. Anywhere there was a cramped dark hole, she was bound to squeeze herself into it."

"Is that how you found her?" I asked quietly, "Hiding in a hole?"

Mole suddenly shook himself as if waking from a trance. He returned the cigar to his mouth. "Interview's over. Find someone else to pester."

I pursed my lips, nodded. "Okay."

He threw me a warning look. "I better not read any of this in your next issue."

"It's off the record," I assured him. Truthfully, I was amazed he told me that much. There was still more gap than filler, but it was enough to catch a tantalizing glimpse of his relationship with the panther-lady; Cat. Hopefully, I would gain enough of Mole's trust before my assignment ended to get the rest of his story. Not that I planned to ever write any of it; I promised not to, after all. It was just this perverse need I had to know things about people. It was one of the main reasons I became a journalist. And why I made my next remark without pausing to consider that it might piss the volatile lizard-man off.

"Seems like a waste of moisture for a desert-bred soldier."

Mole's expression darkened. "What is?"

By then I realized it was probably a mistake, but decided there wasn't anything to gain from backing off. Wordlessly, I pointed at my own eye.

Mole looked away. "It's a defect."

"Oh." That was sobering. I got the impression Manticore didn't tolerate even small defects in their creations. "Did they lock you in the basement, too?"

"No," he sighed, "I just learned not to cry."

I flashed back to my childhood, how I learned to hide the pain I felt so the bullies left me alone. It was hell for me and it was only boarding school. How much worse was it for Mole, growing up with combat training, torture countermeasures, and forced marches? Where even the slightest hint of weakness could mean life in a cage, or worse?

_What if Moorhead saw you now, sympathizing with the enemy?_ The thought brought a stab of guilt and fear.

* * *

><p>As if fate listened in and decided to play a cruel joke, I got a call while I was driving back to the hotel.<p>

_"Fe'nos tol."_

_"Fe'nos tol,"_ I responded, my voice deceptively calm. I was given directions to the next meeting place, then the call ended. I switched lanes to reach the next turnoff and headed away from my original destination.

The meeting took place at an aquarium. I came upon Moorhead standing in front of a huge floor-to-ceiling window that gave an incredible view of the beluga enclosure. The whales' bulbous white shapes moves with surprising grace through the water.

"Amazing that creatures like these are capable of their own kind of beauty," Moorhead observed, echoing my thoughts. She turned to me with a welcoming smile, as if this was only a social visit. "I once met with Ames White in this very place."

I knew who Ames White was; his story was almost biblical. Sandeman's oldest son, who tried to make up for his father's betrayal by becoming a fanatic. For a while he was the Conclave's favorite for a position in their ranks. But then he pitted himself against Max Guevara and his obsession with defeating her brought about his own downfall.

Moorhead turned her attention back to the whales. One of them swam over and playfully butted its bulbous head against the glass. I smiled in spite of my growing worry.

"You stayed behind the wall much later than usual yesterday evening," Moorhead casually stated.

Even though I suspected as much, I was still startled by the revelation that they were watching me—outside the wall, at least. I was grateful it didn't take much effort for me to keep my expression blank. I had a lifetime's practice. "One of the Transgenics invited me to dinner," I said in a neutral voice.

Only Moorehead's eyes moved, gazing at me sidelong in a way that seemed to pierce through my mental armor. An old priestess's trick. "And you accepted this creature's invitation...why?"

"He's one of 452's closest friends and a trusted member of the core group of Terminal City's leaders." I twisted my mouth into a disdainful smirk. "He's infatuated with me."

Her answering smile was a mixture of disgust and amusement. "If that's true he could prove a useful source of information. I applaud your initiative."

"Thank you." Inside, a sigh of relief. "Is that why you wanted to meet with me?"

"Partly." She turned again to face me. Bluish light from the belugas' tank rippled over her, giving the moment a dreamlike quality. "I have also come to tell you that plans are being set in motion. Plans in which you will play a key role."

My heart stammered in my chest even as my face remained blank. "Am I allowed to know what these plans are?"

Moorhead smiled tenderly. "Not yet, dear. But I can tell you it involves the destruction of our people's greatest threat. If you succeed, you will be hailed as one of our greatest heroes for generations to come. And all the hardships and shunnings you've endured because of your defect will be no more."

My throat tightened at those words. Acceptance; it was all I'd wanted ever since I learned about my flaw. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, child," she patted my shoulder in a gesture of fondness, "Your hard work and sacrifice are what brought you here. Keep to your faith and you will go even farther."

I nodded, unable to speak through the lump in my throat. Moorhead said her farewell and walked away, leaving me alone with the cavorting whales and my ambivalence.


	7. Vigil

**A/N:** I recently re-watched the episode "Proof of Purchase" when Max and Alec go into Terminal City for the first time and I discovered the homeless man I decided to name Mike was actually called Bill by the old man in the episode. But instead of editing the earlier chapter, I decided to come up with an explanation for the name discrepancy that I thought made sense. Plus, I didn't want to go through the hassle of reposting. ;-)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p><em>Death comes to some<em>

_Like a grizzled gangster_

_Clubbing in the night;_

_To some_

_Like an obstinate captain_

_Steadily besieging barriers;_

_To some like a brown adder_

_Lurking in violet-speckled underbrush;_

_To some_

_Like a gentle nurse_

_Taking their toys and stroking their hot brows._

_Death will come to you, I think,_

_Like an old shrewd gardener_

_Culling his rarest blossom…_

_-"Thoughts of Death" by Sterling A. Brown_

2005

At Brookridge, the faculty saw no reason to shield us from death; we were bound to see plenty of during the time of the Coming. So when, a little over a year after my initiation, a group of us returning from a class field trip saw an old woman die, our teacher didn't tell us to look away. Instead, she quietly encouraged us to spread out so we could all see.

It wasn't anything violent or even scary. The old woman was a little ahead of us pulling one of those shopping caddies full of groceries when she suddenly fell over. I thought she'd tripped at first. A few of my classmates even laughed at her clumsiness. But she didn't get up.

Curious, our teacher—a middle-aged woman named Harkness—walked over, me and the rest of the class trailing behind her. We all peered inquisitively down at the crumpled form. The old woman's eyes were wide open, her breath coming out in short gasps. Her lips had turned a startling shade of blue.

"H-help," she panted weakly, "Please..."

"What's wrong with her?" someone asked.

Harkness tilted her head. "I believe she's having a heart attack," she said in the same tone she might have used while examining a dying animal.

"Help me..."

"Whassa heart attack, Miss Harkness?"

"It means her heart is unable to beat regularly. The organ is defective. It's a problem for many outsiders." The teacher started digging around in her purse for her cellphone. I noticed the telltale crease between her eyebrows that meant she was mildly annoyed, as if the old woman decided to inconvenience her on purpose.

"Defective!" a boy named Jackson grinned and punched me hard in the shoulder, "Just like you, Whiny!"

"Shut up!" I snapped at the hated nickname, pretending the new bruise forming on my arm didn't throb.

"Both of you be silent," Harkness commanded. She found her phone, dialed, and pressed it to her ear. "Yes, is this the emergency room? There is an elderly lady here on Fourth Street in need of an ambulance..."

"Hey," a girl leaned forward, "I think she's dyin'."

We all moved closer, staring down at the old woman. By then she was too weak to even beg for help. She stared up at us with cloudy blue eyes. I saw pain in them—something I could easily recognize—but more than that, I saw fear. It shook me; I was still innocent enough back then to think grownups were never scared. Yet there it was, clear as day. The old woman was dying and she knew it, and she was afraid.

_"Do not fear,"_ I murmured the words spoken at my father's funeral in the Familiar tongue, only half understanding, _"The ancestors are calling you."_

"Why're you saying that to _her?_" Jackson asked contemptuously, "She's just an outsider!"

I ignored him. I was too busy staring into the old woman's eyes. They were still open, but somehow I knew there was no one left to see through them anymore.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

It was the three of us again; myself, Joshua, and Mole. He met me with Joshua at Terminal City's gate and came along with us like nothing had changed. Joshua and I exchanged little smiles, but knew better than to say anything.

"So, how was your day at the gallery?" I asked the tall dog-man.

Joshua grinned. "Great! They had these little sandwich things on trays."

My shoulders shook; he would fixate on the _hors d'oeuvres_. "I think you mean canapés."

"Right. And this stuff called fwuh graw-"

"Foie gras. That's goose liver."

"And-and ca-vi-ar," he enunciated carefully. He threw me a conspiratorial look. "Know what that is?"

"Fish eggs," Mole answered around his usual cigar stub.

Joshua nodded, eyes wide. "Pretty whack."

I stifled a laugh. "Aside from the overpriced snackfood, how was the opening?"

"Okay, I guess," the dog-man shrugged, "People kept talking funny. Saying things like 'radiant juxtaposition' and 'intense presence.' They kept asking Joshua about muse. I didn't know how to answer!"

"Don't worry about it," I patted his shoulder, "They're just people with no artistic talent and way too much money trying to sound like they know better than you do what you were thinking when you painted your pictures."

"Wasn't thinking anything!"

Mole let out a deep snort; the sound of a wise-ass remark barely kept in check.

"What matters is they love your pictures," I told Joshua, "And as long as they love them enough to buy them, it doesn't matter what they think they know." I was speaking from personal experience, having sold numerous photographic art pieces over the years. It astounded me the ridiculous things people came up with to try to sound smart, spending hours analyzing a picture of a butterfly captured mid-flight when the only reason I shot the photo was because I thought it was pretty.

"Upstairs people are weird," Joshua declared.

I smirked. "No argument here."

"Hey!"

We all froze at the shout as a figure came running towards us. It took me a second to recognize him; it was Mike, one of the homeless guys I interviewed a while back. As he came nearer, the anxiety in his face became more pronounced. I felt a stir of worry in my stomach.

"It's Joe," the vagrant panted, waving behind him, "Something's wrong. He just fell and I dunno what to do for him."

Mole stepped forward; he was trained in basic field medicine, like most of Manticore's soldiers. "Where is he?"

"Over here." Mike jogged back the way he came, the rest of us behind him. We turned a corner at the next street and saw the rumpled form of the old man lying half on the sidewalk. His scraggly little dog was circling him, barking anxiously.

Mole tossed his cigar into the rain gutter and knelt beside the fallen man. He reached into a pocket of his coat, pulled out a hand-held radio, and tossed it to Joshua. "Call Dix. Tell him we need an ambulance."

Joshua nodded and brought the radio to his mouth. While he contacted Dix, Mole checked the old man's vitals. Mike scooped up the dog and held the whining animal to his chest. As for me, there was nothing I could do except stay out of the way. I felt as if I were seven years old again and watching the old woman suffer her fatal heart attack. The old man, Joe, was thin and frail before, but now he looked ghostly. He was so pale, I could see every blue vein beneath his skin, the same color as his tinged lips. His watery eyes stared blearily upwards. "Bill?"

"Right here, man," Mike answered, "I found you some help. You're gonna be okay."

"Where's Bongo?" the old man's voice quavered.

Mike held up the little dog. "I got him. I'm just lookin' out for him till you get back on your feet."

Joe visibly relaxed on hearing this and even managed a weak smile. "Okay."

Strange. He didn't seem scared at all. I clearly remembered the fear in the old woman's eyes, but in Joe's I only saw calm acceptance for whatever fate had in store for him.

Mole sat back on his heels, his expression stony.

"So, what is it?" Mike asked, his worry rising again with the lizard-man's reaction, "Did he catch something?" While the homeless Ordinaries lived in one of the "clean" zones of TC, there was no guarantee someone might not run into a hidden pocket of biotoxin somewhere.

But Mole shook his head. "Think his heart's giving out."

Joshua came over, the radio at his side. "Dix says ambulance is on its way."

"Tell 'em to take their time," Joe murmured, pale eyes gazing up at the sky. We all exchanged troubled glances. He was fading. It was doubtful the ambulance would make it in time, assuming they could do anything for him. The idea upset us more than it did Joe. If anything, he looked almost relieved.

Joshua, Mike, and I moved closer and knelt to either side of him. On impulse, I reached out and took the old man's hand. His eyes turned towards me; I wondered how much they could see.

_"Do not fear. The ancestors are calling you,"_ I whispered the ancient words, so faint even I barely heard them, _"Take your place among them knowing your children's children shall remember you. Always."_

"Look, Bill," Joe said weakly, "It's an angel. Y' see her?"

"Yeah," Mike looked at me, "I see her."

The old man smiled. "She looks like my Donna..." And then he was gone. No one left to see through his eyes.

Mole stood and held his hand out to Joshua, who passed him the hand-held. The lizard-man put some distance between him and us while he talked to Dix or whoever might be at the control center.

I laid Joe's hand on his chest, then reached out to shut his eyes. "He called you Bill," I said to Mike.

He nodded. "Yeah. Mike's my middle name. First name's William. Joe was the only one who called me Bill. He knew I always hated that n-name." He broke down at those last words, one hand covering his eyes while the other continued to hold Bongo against his chest. The little dog whined and licked the weeping man's chin. Joshua laid a paw-hand on Mike's shoulder, offering whatever comfort he could. I looked away from them and noticed a metallic gleam at Joe's throat. I carefully reached into the collar of his stained and tattered shirt and pulled out a thin chain with a pair of military dog tags dangling from it.

"He was a soldier?"

Mike sniffed and wiped his eyes, some measure of control regained. "Yeah. Said he fought in 'Nam."

I laid the tags on Joe's chest just above his folded hands.

A loud curse drew our attention behind us where Mole ended his radio conversation and stomped back over to us. "Bastard paramedics said they won't go past the gate. They don't wanna risk exposing themselves to TC's biochemicals for some dead homeless guy. We gotta bring the body out to them."

Mike took the news with the acceptance of one who'd long ago given up hope in the charity of others. "They won't even give him a funeral. Just chuck him into a cheap pine box and bury him with a stack of five other dead nobodies in potter's field," he sighed, "If they don't incinerate him so he won't spread whatever contaminants he might've picked up here."

Joshua gazed thoughtfully at the dog tags. "Joe was a soldier. Transgenics were soldiers. We should give him funeral."

We all looked to Mole. If anyone objected to the suggestion, it would be him, with his notorious dislike bordering on hatred for Ordinaries. But all he did was get back on the radio and ask to talk to Max. "...And tell those chickenshits at the gate to head on home. We got this."

* * *

><p>The casket was made from scraps of wood scavenged from uninhabited buildings, but it was put together with such care, in alternating patterns of light and dark, that it was as beautiful as anything a funeral parlor could have provided. Draped across its lid was a flag; not the US flag, but the black, red, and white one that flew in Terminal City. The pallbearers were a mix of Transgenics and some of the homeless Ordinaries, as were the mourners watching the procession. Mike stood with Max and Alec beside the open grave. He had Bongo with him, tethered on a leash. Both he and the dog were washed and Mike wore a new set of black clothes. Everyone, including me, was dressed in black or wore black armbands.<p>

The freshly dug grave was located in what was once a vacant lot that had grown a thick carpet of grass in the years since the TC evacuation. For a while people talked about making it into a park. It was certainly pretty enough. But with Joe's death came the sobering realization that a cemetery was needed. It would be named the Joseph Walston Memorial Cemetery, after the first person to be interred there.

The pallbearers reached the grave and set the casket down beside it. Two X5's stood to either end while the pallbearers joined the rest of the mourners. Alec called out in a clear, authoritative voice, "Ten-hut!"

Every Transgenic stood at attention, hands raised in salutes.

There was a group of identical X7's positioned near the grave. One of them raised a bugle to his lips and started to play Taps. While the mournful notes sang out, the X5's at the casket lifted the flag and started to fold it with well-rehearsed precision. When it was reduced to a heat triangle, one of them carried it over to Max, who then passed over to Mike with a few words of condolence.

I was close enough to see their faces, but not to hear what was said. My usual companions were on either side of me; Mole to my right, Joshua at my left. Throughout the funeral my camera was kept busy, taking photos of the pallbearers, Mike and the other homeless Ordinaries clustered together amid the saluting Transgenics, the flag, and the solemn Max Guevara.

The last note from the bugle faded. The casket was lowered into the ground and the first handfuls of dirt thrown in. Slowly, the crowd dispersed, no one speaking above a low murmur.

My camera was suddenly shoved down and I faced a glowering Mole. "Where the hell do you get off turning this into a sideshow?" he snarled.

"That's not what I'm doing," I answered calmly, "People need to see this."

"See what?" Mole spat, "Some dead old guy nobody cared about?"

"We cared," Joshua's quiet voice drew our attention away from the growing dispute. The dog-man's gaze was focused on the grave that was gradually being filled in. "That's what Ordinary people need to see. We take care of our own, even if our own aren't Transgenic."

Not even Mole could argue with that reason. The lizard-man threw me one last angry look, then walked away, hands shoved in his pockets and head down. Without his shotgun and cigar, he looked incomplete. An imitation of the person I knew and had grown to like, for all his cantankerousness. I hoped his anger wouldn't keep him away like it did before.

Joshua put an arm around my shoulders. "You okay?" Even though I'd kept my face expressionless, he still somehow knew the funeral affected me more than I let on.

"Yeah." I leaned into his comforting bulk. "Is it alright if we go back to your place? I'm not up for attending the wake."

Joshua nodded in understanding and the two of us headed away from where the majority were going.

Most of the finished paintings were cleared out of his home to be sold, but already there were new canvases leaning against the wall. An easel was set up with Joshua's latest project resting on it, hidden behind a drop cloth.

"Are you hungry?" Joshua asked, taking off his coat. It was late afternoon and neither of us had eaten since that morning. I shook my head, though, and sat in the leather chair by the bookshelves, setting my camera down on a small end table beside a reading lamp. I rested my elbows on my knees and brought my clasped hands up to cover my mouth. My eyes stared straight ahead, but what I saw was another funeral many years ago.

I could hear Joshua shuffling around in the kitchen area. He filled the kettle from a jug of drinking water and set it on the range to make tea. Then came over and crouched in front of me, one large hand resting on my knee. "Skye?"

"Hmm?" I responded, my thoughts still on the past.

"What was it you said to Joe?"

I blinked and shifted my gaze to him. "When?"

"When you were holding his hand. You whispered something I couldn't understand."

My eyebrows drew together in a frown. "You heard me?"

Joshua's mouth stretched in a lopsided grin. "Got good ears."

"Oh. It was nothing, Joshua. I was just praying. Latin."

He shook his head. "Not Latin."

"How do you know?"

"Father's books. Some had Latin in them. I learned."

I should have been afraid. Should have wracked my brain for a plausible lie. But I was just too damn tired of it, the double-life, the secrets kept from both sides. I was tired of hiding.

I straightened from my hunched position and leaned back in the chair with a sigh. "My father died in a car wreck when I was four. The first time I heard those words was at his funeral, though I didn't know what they meant until later, in school."

"What did they mean?" Joshua asked patiently.

"Same as pretty much everything we say in that language; talking about ancestors and descendants."

I couldn't read Joshua's expression, but his voice was strangely heavy when he said, "Breeding."

"Yeah." I looked away from him. My right hand slowly pulled my left sleeve up to expose my forearm and the symbol on my skin. I heard Joshua's sharp intake of breath, but none of the shouts of anger and betrayal I expected. I still didn't look at him; I was too afraid of what I'd see. Instead I closed my eyes and told him everything about myself I hadn't told him or anyone else before. How I was born with a defect that allowed me to feel pain. How my perfect immune system kept me alive when the Conclave would have wanted me dead. The hellish years I spent growing up with my own kind, who treated me like a freak. The years after that I was forced to try to get pregnant, only to fail again and again. I told him everything except my meetings with Moorhead and the plans she alluded to; I still had that much loyalty to my kind, at least.

Joshua didn't say a word the whole time I talked. When I was finally done I waited with my eyes still closed, wondering if he'd call the militia to lock me up or execute me, or just tell me to leave and not come back. I wouldn't have blamed him either way. Our two kinds were enemies; he had to look out for his own.

He lightly touched the symbol on my arm, tracing it with his fingertips. "Why tell me?"

I swallowed. "I don't know."

Another long silence, then, "Annie was killed by Familiar."

My eyes flew open and I gaped at him. But it made horrible sense. I remembered the news reports about Annie Fisher's death. They said it took someone of incredible strength to break her neck, which was why they assumed it was Joshua, who was last seen with her. And the Conclave had wanted to turn public opinion against the Transgenics. The murder of an innocent blind girl would've been a perfect opportunity.

But she wasn't just a blind girl. She was Joshua's friend and might have been more if they'd been given more time. I saw it in his face when he talked about her; he loved her. And her murder left an open wound in his heart.

"I'm sorry," I choked, tears spilling down my cheeks, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

Joshua reached out and gently pulled me to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder.

"Not your fault," he said soothingly, "It wasn't you."

In a way, his kindness hurt even more than his hatred would have. It opened a floodgate of repressed emotion that left me helpless. I cried for what seemed like hours while Joshua rocked me back and forth. I felt like a little girl who'd woken from a nightmare, being comforted by someone bigger and stronger than me. I never feared Joshua's strength and I wasn't afraid now. Instead I felt safe, protected. I knew he'd keep all the monsters away.

When my tears were finally done, I was left weak and exhausted. Joshua wordlessly lifted me in his arms and carried me to his bed. He lay me down, took off my shoes, then pulled the blanket over me. I lay there placidly the whole time. My eyelids grew heavy. "Joshua?"

"Yes, Skye?"

"Please don't tell the others."

His big hand gently brushed a strand of hair from my face. "I won't."

"Thank you," I whispered. Then I gave in to my exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep.


	8. Walls

**A/N:** Just to let you all know, the rating will be changed to M sometime in the near future, perhaps even as soon as the next chapter.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p>"<em>People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges." -Joseph F. Newton<em>

"_Never apologize for showing feeling. When you do so, you apologize for truth." -Benjamin Desraeli_

2017

Among other advantages of my chosen career, I had the handy excuse of constant travel to keep everyone at arm's length. All Familiars put up barriers between themselves and outsiders to some degree. The reason was simple; the Coming. It was destined to happen in my lifetime, which meant everyone I knew—neighbors, coworkers, people I occasionally hung out at a bar with—was doomed to die. It was inevitable, a prophesy handed down through the generations ever since the first plague all but wiped out our ancestors' people.

This necessary distancing made life especially lonely for me, since my own kind didn't really want anything to do with me. But I got used to it. You can get used to anything if your options are nonexistent. It's when you find a chance at making a real connection with someone that the loneliness becomes unbearable.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

I woke with the smell of Joshua all around me and it took a few seconds to remember what happened only a few hours ago. My internal sense of time told me it was well past sunset. I was sure to get an earful from Moorhead about staying on so late next time we met.

I sat up in the king size bed and rubbed my eyes. My clothes were rumpled and my hair was probably a rat's nest. I patted it into submission as best I could and tied it back in a ponytail. "Joshua?"

His head leaned out from behind the easel, a smudge of paint on his forehead and his fangs bared in a cheerful grin. "Hey, sleepyhead. Feel better?"

I remembered spilling my guts to him and almost ran out of the apartment in a panic. It had been pounded into my head ever since my initiation that I must _never_, under _any _circumstances, tell any outsiders about my kind. And not only did I break that law, but I revealed myself to a Transgenic, a sworn enemy to all Familiars. Yet I couldn't bring myself to feel guilty about it. Joshua promised not to tell anyone else and I trusted him. But I was still afraid. If the Conclave found out...

I took a deep breath to calm myself. "I'm fine." Flinging the blanket aside, I got up from the bed and padded in my socks over to Joshua. I was careful to keep the easel facing away from me, out of respect for his work. Some artists were touchy about that kind of thing. Joshua kept smiling at me like nothing had changed between us. This scared me a little, but I couldn't say why.

"Thanks," I said awkwardly, "for, y'know, not holding what I said against me."

He tilted his head in a dog-like show of puzzlement. "Father was Familiar, too," he said, "And he was one of the good guys."

"You still think I'm a good guy?" I smiled sadly.

He nodded his shaggy head, not a trace of doubt in his blue eyes.

I said in a quiet voice, "You don't know me."

Joshua gave me a thoughtful look. He set down his paintbrush and palette, then stepped around the easel over to me. "Close your eyes."

I blinked at this strange request. "What?"

Joshua flashed a mischievous grin and covered my eyes with one huge hand. He moved behind me, gripping my shoulder with his other hand to steer me forward.

"What're you doing?" I laughed, trying to pull his hand away from my face, but I was no match for his strength.

"You'll see." He turned me around, nudged me over a couple of steps until he was satisfied I was in just the right spot, then finally pulled his hand away with a flourish. "Ta-da!"

My jaw fell open. I was looking at Joshua's latest painting, but it wasn't another abstract. Instead, I saw a typical cloudy Seattle sky with a few golden rays breaking through, a broken down street full of cracks and potholes, and in the background the remains of an ancient brick wall. And in the very center of the painting stood a figure that couldn't be mistaken for anyone but me, wearing jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, hair tied back. My posture was relaxed, one knee bent. I was peering through my camera, and because I stood slightly in profile, I could see the broad smile on my face.

"Y-you painted me."

Joshua, standing behind me, rested his hands on my shoulders. "All of it's you, not just woman standing there."

"How is it all me?" I asked, almost timid sounding.

His right arm stretched past me, pointing out the different images and explaining them to me. "The sky is what you show people. They think that's all there is, but sometimes a little bit of you slips out like sunshine."

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth.

Joshua's breath tickled my ear as he continued, "Camera is your way of seeing the truth. Helps you filter through all the bullshit."

I chuckled his use of a cuss word; it wasn't often I heard him use bad language. It was kind of cute. "What about the street?"

"The street's your life, beginning and end, always moving."

"And the cracks?" I asked, my voice subdued.

"Pavement broken because parts of story missing. Hidden away."

"Where?"

He pointed to the last object in the painting. "Behind the wall you built."

I stared at the weathered bricks. "It's crumbling."

His arms slowly went around me. "Because you're letting go." He leaned down to whisper in my ear, "I do know you."

I closed my eyes and leaned back into his safe embrace. I could almost swear I felt his heart beating against my shoulder blades, its strong, steady rhythm a comfort to me.

"How do you feel now?" he asked.

I felt a smile creep across my face. "I'm happy."

Joshua gently nuzzled the side of my neck. I didn't pull away. My head turned of its own accord, my cheek brushing against his. For once there was no doubt or conflict. As natural as breathing, I let my mouth touch his. The slight contact made us both gasp a little. Joshua's arms loosened so I could turn around and face him. My hands cradled either side of his face and I kissed him again. His lips were soft, molding themselves to mine. I teased them apart with the tip of my tongue. Joshua made a faint sound at the deepened contact, something between a whimper and a growl. Then a sharp pain in my lip made me jerk away with an "Ouch!"

Joshua's face morphed into that Basset hound expression; his head drooped. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I laughed, checking my lip with the tip of my tongue to find no harm done, "Just startled me is all. I never kissed a guy with fangs before."

Joshua glanced at me shyly. "Joshua never kissed _anyone_ before. Maybe not so good at it."

That was certainly debatable. "Well, you know how to get better at it, right?"

He shook his head.

"Same way you get to Carnegie Hall," I smiled, "Practice."

A slow grin appeared on his face. He reached out and took my hand in a light grip. "Can we practice now?"

That set me off on a fit of giggles as I felt a blush rise in my cheeks. I couldn't remember ever reacting that way even in my teens. When I finally caught my breath I sighed regretfully. "I wish we could, but I have to go. My editor's expecting an update tomorrow and if it's late he'll be pestering me with calls all day."

Joshua didn't even try to hide his disappointment. "Oh. Okay." Reluctantly, he let my hand slip out of his. He watched as I put on my shoes and gathered up my camera and bag.

I walked over to him to say goodbye. "I really love the painting, Joshua. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he smiled, "Not finished, though."

"That's okay. It's not like I have anyplace to keep it in my hotel room." I hesitated, then stood up on tiptoe to give him an all-too-brief kiss. "G'night, Joshua."

"Good night, Skye."

I gave him one last look over my shoulder before stepping out the door. He looked hopeful, and thrilled, and a little scared; same as me.

* * *

><p>It wasn't just Moorhead who met with me this time. There was a man with her, about the same age, with black hair and a square chin. It took me a moment to recognize him; the last time I saw him was at a wealthy classmate's initiation ceremony, his face covered with ash and runes painted on in brown ochre. He was a high-ranking member of the Conclave, much more so than Moorhead. I felt an icy lump of dread at what this could mean.<p>

We met around midnight in a dreary abandoned lot in the middle of a rundown industrial area. The streetlights hadn't worked since the Pulse, so the only light we had came from the headlights of our cars. None of us were worried about being noticed; the only people around were the types who were either too drunk or high (or both) to care what went on around them.

The man, whose name I never learned, spoke the traditional greeting, _"Fe'nos tol."_

I responded in kind.

The man cut to the chase, "Why did you stay so long in Terminal City tonight?"

"There was a funeral for a homeless Ordinary who lived there," I answered without hesitation, "I attended that and the wake afterwards."

The man arched a black eyebrow. "It must have been a very long wake."

"It was. The Transgenics needed to work twice as hard to get properly drunk for the occasion." I took a risk making that flippant remark. Fortunately, I saw his lips twitch in amusement. Moorhead gave me the tiniest nod of approval.

"Sister Moorhead speaks very highly of you," he told me, "She says you have a talent for putting people at ease, gaining their trust."

"It's my job," I replied, "I wouldn't be a very good journalist otherwise."

"And have you gained the Transgenics' trust?" He stared at me intently.

I nodded.

"This includes 452?"

"Yes." The feeling of dread got stronger, but I kept it well hidden.

The man nodded to Moorhead, who handed me what looked like a box that expensive watches came in. Something told me never came from Swizerland, though. I needed to be careful when I opened it. I undid the clasp at the front and lifted the lid. The inside of the box, top and bottom, was filled with soft foam padding and lying in the center was a clear marble. "What is it?"

"A biotoxin," Moorhead explained, "One so powerful even Transgenics are not immune. It was created for suicide missions, but obviously," she smiled, "that will not be a concern for you."

"They are extremely rare and highly regulated," the man added, "The Conclave went through a great deal of trouble to get our hands on even this one. It is very delicate; you only need to drop it and the outer shell will shatter. Keep it in the case until you are ready to use it."

"It's designed to be used in enclosed areas," said Moorhead, "Such as the control room the Transgenics use. 452 and her core group hold regular meetings there, correct?"

I nodded, my lips pursed.

"Since you have managed to gain their trust, it should not be difficult for you to convince them to let you attend one of these meetings," she smirked, "For one of your news articles."

"452 is the primary target," the man said, "Take out the rest of Terminal City's leadership if you can, but above all others 452 must die."

I carefully shut the box and placed it in my bag. It took all my willpower to keep my hands from shaking. I met the man's gaze. "I've done everything the Conclave asked of me without question," I told him with a calm I certainly didn't feel, "But now I want to know why. Why is 452 such a threat to us? Why do you want me to kill her?"

I could feel him measuring me up. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. For your loyalty I will tell you," he paused for effect, "The Coming is at hand."

Even with all my experience at concealing my emotions, I couldn't hide the surprise from my voice, "What? How can... The comet already passed. Nothing happened."

Moorhead answered, "The comet was merely a sign that the time was ripe. We did not understand then, but after much prayer, we realize it now."

"Since then," the man continued, "The Conclave has been manufacturing vast stockpiles of the pathogen. Soon we will unleash the next plague that will wipe out the rest of humanity, then all Familiars can take their rightful place as the earth's dominant species. The Prophesy will be fulfilled." His eyes seemed to glow with fervor at his own words. "But that cannot happen as long as 452 lives. The traitor Sandeman created her as a living source for a cure to the disease. If she figures out how to create a vaccine from her blood, she could make _everyone_ immune and rob us of our destiny."

I stared at them, my thoughts whirling. "I... You've given me a great honor."

Moorhead smiled. "It's as I promised you, dear. History will revere you for what you're about to do. Because of you, our people will triumph over the Transgenic filth. Without their leader they will have no hope of defeating us in the coming war."

My throat tightened and tears welled in my eyes. No doubt they thought I was deeply moved.

The man reached out and gripped my shoulder. "The Conclave has faith in you, child. You will not fail us."

* * *

><p>On my way back to the hotel I pulled over, leaned out the open door, and vomited into the rain gutter.<p> 


	9. Faithless

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p><em>And you keep talking but we both know it's not true<em>

_I still know that you're wrong_

_And no matter what we both had to go through_

_I just can't, I can't hold on_

_And when you asked if I believed and I told you_

_Strange how that made me strong_

_But I can't feel a thing that I used to_

_And I can't, I can't hold on_

_-All That Remains, "Hold On"_

2021

I can pinpoint the exact moment I lost my faith. December 25, 2021, a little past midnight. The entire world had turned out to witness the passing of a comet last seen more than two thousand years ago. Back then the comet had only come close enough to earth to be seen as a bright light in the sky, which led many historians to speculate that it might have been the origin for the fabled "Star of Bethlehem." This time, it would pass much closer.

According to the sacred texts of the Familiars, the last time the comet passed this close, it unleashed a plague that all but wiped out humanity, leaving behind only a few special people born with a natural immunity. The prophesy said the disaster would repeat itself, only this time we would be ready. For five thousand years we prepared our descendents for the Coming. There were literally millions of Familiars across the globe waiting for the moment when they no longer had to live in hiding. The rest of humanity would fall to the plague and we would step up to inherit all they left behind.

I almost didn't go out that night. I wasn't sure I could handle watching everyone die in front of me. But in the end, I decided it would be disrespectful not to be a witness. They were, after all, making the ultimate sacrifice, even if they didn't know it yet. So I stood outside in the old winter night, surrounded by doomed neighbors, acquaintances, and strangers, all staring up at the clear sky. We didn't have to wait long. The comet flew past in an intense white blaze, its fiery tail casting the most amazing streaks of colored light in the atmosphere. I imagined countless trillions of viral particles raining down on upturned faces. In just a few seconds the first victims would fall. I waited...

For nothing.

Nothing. No one dropped. No one was overcome with a sudden fever. There wasn't even a cough or a sneeze. As the comet vanished from sight the crowd slowly dispersed as everyone headed indoors to get out of the cold. Everyone but me. I stood alone in the empty plaza, gaping up at the winter sky. The only world that ended that night was mine.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

I sat on the edge of the bed in my hotel room and stared at the box sitting on the dresser. It looked so innocuous. If anyone were to see it, they'd never guess as its deadly contents. Not unlike the serpents that had been bred by us the same time we bred ourselves. To all appearances they were nothing more than someone's exotic pets. But in their blood was the very pathogen that nearly caused humanity's extinction, and which all Familiars must prove themselves immune to.

After I got over my shock that fateful Christmas, I thought long and hard about how we could have gotten it all so wrong. The plague was real, I didn't doubt that, just as the comet itself was real. But the fact that both coincided with each other five thousand years ago, I finally determined, was only coincidence. Yes, a huge comet passed earth by. Yes, a deadly epidemic struck. But one was not the cause of the other. There was nothing unearthly about the pathogen, any more than bubonic plague or influenza, both of which killed millions of people in their time. The plague of our legends _did_ almost wipe out humanity, but humanity thousands of years ago existed in isolated pockets and civilizations. While my ancestors buried most of their people—who to them constituted all of humanity—the rest of the world plodded on none the wiser.

My religion, my way of life, was nothing more than superstitious hokum. Five thousand years of selective breeding. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

In the end, life went on as usual. The Conclave continued to dictate Familiars' lives, I kept going to my appointments with Doctor Jackson, children still underwent the initiation ritual, and the world kept spinning.

Obedience. I obeyed the Conclave faithfully, even after I lost my faith. I was still Familiar and they were still my leaders. Loyalty.

I stood, slung my bag and camera over my shoulders, picked up the box from the dresser, and put it in my bag. Then I hefted the cardboard box that was delivered to my room the day before and left the hotel.

The cardboard box contained the latest issue. Like before, the guys at the control center tore into it before I had a chance to open the box with my penknife. The Transgenics chattered excitedly while they thumbed through pages and pointed things out to each other. I put on a convincing act of smiling and nodding, answering questions and taking compliments, while inside I was numb.

Dix suddenly looked up towards the entrance and called out, "Hey, Max! Check it out, you're on the cover!" He held up the magazine.

I turned to the catwalk and there she was, Alec to her left and a man I never saw before to her right. She and this other man were holding hands. This had to be Logan, the boyfriend I heard about. He was a few years older than her, tall and strikingly handsome. If it weren't for the eyeglasses I would have thought he was another X-series.

Max, Alec, and Logan joined the others in admiring the magazine. Logan approached me, his hand extended, smiling warmly. "You must be Skye Danziger. Logan Cale."

My eyebrows rose as I shook his hand. "Logan _Cale_, writer for the _Pacific Free Press_? Nephew to the late Jonas Cale?"

"The very same," he grinned.

"I read the piece you did on the defective ballot systems last election year. I'm amazed you got away with publishing it."

"I could say the same about your story on that government-funded drug ring," he countered.

I smirked. "What can I say? I have friends in low places."

Logan chuckled.

"I see you two decided to introduce yourselves." Max sauntered over to us.

Logan put an arm around her waist. "Well, you know, birds of a feather."

I watched their casual intimacy and easygoing banter. Though I knew their relationship was still fairly new, they acted as if they'd been together for years. I supposed if two people fit each other well, time wasn't really a factor.

"So," Max turned to me, "anything special planned for your next installment?"

My eyes casually scanned the milling people behind her; Alec and Luke, Dix and Mole, and Max Guevara herself in front of me. Nearly everyone the Transgenics looked to for leadership, all contained in a single room. Only Joshua was absent. My hand crept into my bag and felt the hard edges of the box. "I have a few ideas floating around."

"Long as none of them involve giving Alec his own column," she grimaced, "If his head gets any bigger it's liable to explode."

I smiled, but couldn't bring myself to force a laugh. Max noticed this and tilted her head, a little frown creasing her brow. "You feeling okay, Skye?"

"Yeah. Um, listen," I leaned towards her, lowering my voice, "Do you think you could send everyone else out? Anyone who isn't part of your core group, I mean."

"Why? Is something wrong?" Logan asked, his expression concerned.

"It's...something I can't discuss in front of you," I told him, "I'm sorry."

He and Max looked at each other. A silent exchange passed between them, then Logan nodded and stepped away. I watched as he gathered up the rest of the extraneous people and herded them out of the control center. Soon it was just me and Max, Dix, Luke, Alec, and Mole. We seated ourselves around a circular table near the center of the room. The Transgenics' expressions ranged from puzzled to mildly annoyed (Mole, naturally, fitting into the latter category).

"What's up?" Luke asked, speaking for all of them.

I brought out the box and set it on the table in front of me. It drew their curious glances. "I haven't been completely honest with you," I confessed.

"How d'you mean?" Alec frowned.

I undid the clasp, raised the lid, and lifted the clear marble from its nest of foam. I held it between my finger and thumb. I could feel how delicate he paper-thin shell was. It wouldn't take much pressure to crack it, like squeezing a grape. "Any of you know what this is?"

"I do." Somehow Mole stood and pointed his shotgun at me in the time it took to blink. Strangely, it wasn't the barrel of the weapon that drew my gaze, but his eyes. They were filled with rage—both remembered and new—and betrayal.

Instantly the air grew thick with tension. The others stood and backed from the table, out of the line of fire, leaving me the only one still seated.

"What is it?" Max asked.

I answered calmly, reciting what I'd been told, "It's a biotoxin designed by the military for high-risk assassinations. If I drop this, the shell will break open, the liquid inside will come in contact with the air and turn into a rapidly expanding gas that'll fill this entire room in seconds. If so much as a dime-sized patch of skin comes in contact with it, you'll be dead in less than a minute." I leveled a stare at Mole. "So shooting me while I'm holding this might not be the wisest course of action."

"Put it down, Mole," Max ordered.

"You lying bitch," he snarled, spitting out his cigar, "I knew letting you come here was a mistake." For a second I thought he might pull the trigger anyway, but then he lowered the shotgun and settled for glaring at me.

The looks the others gave me weren't any easier to take. Alec was obviously pissed off at himself for not seeing throught my duplicity as much as he was at me. Luke and Dix looked hurt by my betrayal. Only Max's face remained calm. She had a leader's talent for pushing her emotions aside when the situation required a clear head.

"What do you want, Skye?" she asked.

My eyes turned to the marble I held, observing the way the light filtered through it. "The Conclave wants you dead."

"The Conclave?" She looked as though she might have heard the word before.

"The governing body of the Familiars," I explained, watching from the corner of my eye as my words sank in.

"So, you're a Familiar," Max said. Though she had to be angry, she hid it well. "If this Conclave sent you to kill us, to kill _me_, why didn't you do it sooner? You've had plenty of chances."

The corner of my mouth stretched in a sardonic grin. "I'm not a professional assassin, Max. I really was assigned here by _Modern Events_. But when the Conclave found out they got in touch with me. At first they just told me to look for any weaknesses they could use against you. Then they decided I should take a more active role."

Max shook her head. "Why? Your prophesy thing about the end of the world didn't come true. Why do you still want me dead?"

"Because you're still a threat," my voice cracked just a little. I saw that she noticed. "The Conclave can't afford being wrong about the Coming. Not after five thousand years of planning. The prophesy will come true, even if they have to _make_ it happen."

"What're you talking about?" Alec blurted.

I answered, but looked at Max when I did so, "The pathogen, the one every Familiar's immune to, the one Sandeman made all of you immune to...they're planning to infect the world with it."

"Biological warfare," Dix muttered with a dazed expression.

"Genocide," Mole stated bluntly.

"Unless you stop it, Max," I continued, "_That's_ why they want you dead. Sandeman created you as a source of a vaccine that could make everyone immune."

"And your Conclave can't take the risk that I'll figure it out before they unleash their end-of-the-world plague," Max concluded bitterly.

I nodded. "Which is why they gave me this." I held up the poison-filled marble.

"Yeah, but if you use that," Alec warned, "don't you die, too?"

"No," the deep voice sent a jolt of dread through me, "She won't."

Everyone's head turned to the foot of the stairs leading down from the catwalk where Joshua stood. His blue eyes stared straight at me. I couldn't read his expression, but I knew it must have hurt him to see me like this. I only hoped he might forgive me someday.

"He's right," I said quietly, "I won't." And then I placed the fragile marble in my mouth and swallowed.

* * *

><p>Terminal City was in an uproar. I could hear the chaotic roar of arguing voices up in the control center even from my impromptu prison cell in the building's basement. The square room with its cinder block walls was probably once used for storage. Mole shoved me in here once everyone realized I wasn't going to drop dead and posted a couple of guards outside the door. According to my wristwatch, at least four hours passed since then. They'd confiscated my camera and my bag, which held my cellphone. Not that there was anyone I wanted to call at the moment. I sat on the cold floor with my back against the wall opposite the door, knees drawn up and forearms resting on them. I wondered what they planned to do with me once things settled down. No doubt Mole was pushing for a firing squad, but I doubted the others would agree to that. There were still some questions only I could answer for them, for one thing. Maybe they'd save the execution until after my interrogation.<p>

I heard the click of the latch and the door swung open. One of my guards, an X5 whose name I didn't know, stared at me coldly. "Get up. They want to talk to you."

Without a word, I stood and followed him. I heard the second guard fall into step behind me. We climbed the stairs and entered the control center. It was much more crowded this time, and none of the eyes staring at me were in any way friendly. I stopped at the round table I sat at earlier. Max stood on the opposite side with her arms crossed, stone-faced. The guards positioned themselves at either side of me. I dunno, maybe they were worried I'd try something. Or maybe they were there to keep everyone else from tearing me to pieces.

"Why didn't you go through with it?" Max asked me, head tilted in a detached sort of curiosity, "Don't all good little Familiars do what their bosses tell them to?"

"Guess I'm not a very good Familiar," I mumbled.

"This is a waste of time," someone in the crowd hissed, "We should just off her now." Murmurs and nods of agreement from at least half the people in the room. Yet when Max held up a hand they all fell silent.

She lowered her arm and continued to gaze at me, expectant. The silence stretched and I realized she was waiting for an answer, a _real_ answer. I took a moment to gather my thoughts. "There's a saying one of my professors taught me back in college," I began, "'Truth invites scrutiny. Error hides from it.' I've thought a lot about my people's beliefs over the last few months. Things I'd never really given much thought to before. Here's what I came up with."

I cleared my throat self-consicously, "Our sacred texts tell us when our earliest ancestors began to selectively breed themselves, they weren't trying to create a superior race. They were just trying to pass on their immunity to as many people as they could so that when the plague returned, humankind wouldn't become an extinct species. It was only after a few generations passed that they noticed other traits started to surface. Greater strength, faster reflexes," my mouth twitched, "a high resistance to pain. Then suddenly saving humanity wasn't enough anymore.

"But that wasn't all that changed. The ancestors were advanced enough in astronomy to understand that the comet they _thought_ caused the plague that all but wiped out their little corner of the world would someday return. But over time what started out as a prediction became prophesy, what was history became dogma, and what was done for survival was now called destiny. The Conclave's original purpose was to keep track of bloodlines and help our people choose mates that were most compatible to them. Now they rule over every aspect of our lives. And we let them because," I shrugged, "that's 'the way it's always been.'"

"So you're telling us...what?" Max pressed, "That you suddenly decided not to blindly follow the herd anymore?"

I licked my lips, choosing my words carefully, "When the comet passed and nothing happened, I lost my faith. When the Conclave told me they planned to cause the plague themselves, I lost faith in _them_. If it had happened like the prophesy said, that's one thing, but this... You might not believe me when I tell you this, but most of my kind would _never_ agree to this. If they knew what the Conclave had planned they'd overthrow them. We're not evil people, Max. We're just ruled by a corrupt government."

Max bit her lips as she mulled over what I said. I was surprised how quiet everyone was; no one had scoffed or loudly disagreed or tried to interrupt the whole time I was talking. Maybe I was a better public speaker than I thought. The silence continued while everyone waited to see what Max decided to do with me.

She finally spoke, "When are they planning to release the pathogen?"

"They didn't tell me," I replied, "But since they were so desperate to get rid of you now, I'm guessing there's still enough time for you to wreck their plans."

"By vaccinating everyone." She nodded without much enthusiasm. "I don't suppose they mentioned how I'm supposed to do that. Vaccinate seven billion people all at once."

"No. Sorry."

It was then that Joshua, who I'd spent the whole time avoiding with my eyes, spoke up. "What about Father's message?"

Max frowned, but not because she didn't understand what he meant. She rolled up her sleeve and held her arm out to me. "Can you read this? I've been told it's something called ancient Minoan."

"Not exactly," I explained, staring at the marks on her wrist, "It shares the same origins with Minoan, but it's a language only Familiars know."

"We think they're a message from Sandeman. Maybe even instructions." Her eyes bored into me. "Can you translate it?"

I pursed my lips, hesitant to break a lifetime of secrecy even though I knew it was the right thing to do. Finally, I nodded. "It'll take some time, but I can do it."

* * *

><p>I got my bag and camera back, but they kept my cellphone and told me I wasn't allowed to leave Terminal City. I didn't blame them for their caution; I would've done the same in their place. Instead of locking me up again I was given a room on the floor above the control center where I was told to wait while Logan went to fetch the photos and notes he'd taken of Max's runes. The place was pretty spartan, but at least I had a bed and a small bathroom to myself.<p>

The two guards were still posted outside my door, though whether it was to keep me from running off or to protect me from some of the more hot-headed Transgenics, I couldn't say. I was about ready to ask them if I could get something to eat when there was a knock at my door. Curious, I said, "Come in."

The door opened and Joshua entered. He was carrying a tray that held a sandwich and a glass of iced tea. He set it on the room's only table, then turned to face me. I looked down at my shoes; I didn't want to see the recrimination in his eyes. I felt my throat constrict.

"I'm sorry," I seemed to be saying that a lot lately, "I couldn't tell you-"

I felt a light touch on my shoulder and jerked my head up in surprise. Joshua had closed the distance between us without making a sound. How could someone so big move so quietly?

He smiled down at me, so fierce looking and yet so gentle. "It's okay, Skye. I'm not mad."

My eyes stung. I threw my arms around his waist, burying my face against his chest.

Joshua patted my back and whispered, "I knew you were one of the good guys." Then he kissed the top of my head and held me as I cried.


	10. Intensity

**A/N:** Things get kinda steamy between Joshua and Skye in this chapter, hence the change in rating.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p><em>The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere<em>

_The ceremony of innocence is drowned;_

_The best lack all conviction, while the worst_

_Are full of passionate intensity._

_-"The Second Coming" by William Butler Yeats_

2001

9/11 happened only days before my father died. He tried to shield me from the news footage—the plane crashing into the tower, panicked men and women leaping to their deaths to escape an even worse one in the fire, people running and screaming while massive buildings collapsed like houses of cards—but my mother said I needed to see these things to help me grow strong for the Coming. I was too young to understand either way, but my four-year-old mind grasped enough of the concept of death to wonder why anyone would want to cause so much of it.

I asked my father, who I thought was the wisest man alive. He smiled sadly, glanced at the little manticore figurine on the coffee table, and said, "I don't know, love. Maybe they forgot how precious life is."

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

I sniffled drew back to wipe my nose on my sleeve. _That's attractive,_ I thought sardonically.

Joshua didn't seem at all put off by my emotional outburst. He patted my back. "You okay now?"

"Yeah," I smiled up at him, "I'm fine. Considering." Considering I was a traitor to my kind and surrounded by people who probably hated me now.

I must not have hidden my thoughts from my expression very well; either that or Joshua was getting real good at reading me. His large hand cupped the side of my face. "It'll be okay."

"I don't know," I sighed.

"I do," he said with the confidence I didn't feel, "Things might suck for a while, but they always get better. Did for Transgenics. Now we're free, government isn't hunting us, we have our own home." He gestured around him, indicating the city beyond the walls of my room.

I smiled a little at his optimism. If it weren't for the fact that he'd survived his own tragedies, I would have thought he was being naïve.

"I can't go back to my home," I said, "I can't even leave Terminal City. Not after the Conclave figures out I double crossed them. But the thing is, once Max doesn't need my help anymore, I don't think I'll be allowed to stay. I'm not one of you." I rolled back my sleeve, looking at the symbol on my arm. "As far as at least some of you are concerned, I'm one of the enemy."

"Max knows different," Joshua said without a trace of doubt in his voice, "Others will know, too."

I thought about the look in Mole's eyes when I revealed the truth about myself. "Not everyone's as forgiving as you, Joshua."

He took my arm in a light grip. His thumb brushed against the raised scar tissue of the symbol. His hand was warm, the thick pads of his palm rough against my skin. I was amazed how my emotions rose at that simple touch.

"Joshua..."

His clear blue eyes met mine and I forgot what I wanted to say. I was pretty sure it was to tell him he should go before his friends started getting ideas about us. Ideas they wouldn't like. But I couldn't make myself push him away. I didn't want to be alone anymore. And I didn't want to lose him.

I rose up on tiptoe and kissed him. He reacted almost immediately, parting his lips and meeting my tongue with his. His arms slid around my waist and pulled me against him. My heart sped up and heat rose in my face. The kiss finally ended as we both came up for air. Joshua's eyes were glassy and a goofy grin was spreading across his face. The sight of it made me laugh. I loved how he could be so wise and mature one moment and so innocent the next. His inexperience made me a little jealous; my first time with a man hadn't been all that great, mostly because it wasn't my choice. In a way I guess that meant I was still a kind of virgin. There were a lot of choices in my life I never got to make for myself. Decisions that were made before I was truly ready.

In a strange moment of clarity I realized I wanted Joshua.

_He's not even human,_ the appalled voice of the good little Familiar cried out. I ruthlessly stamped it down. I didn't care about his mixed DNA, that he had a dog's face and sometimes a dog's behavior. None of these things disgusted me. They were all part of what made him special and he wouldn't be Joshua without them. I looked at him and I didn't see a freak; I saw a man.

But a man who'd had his heart broken before and who never even kissed anyone before me. I didn't want to just throw myself at him and risk hurting what we already had.

I reached up to cradle his face in my hands and drew his head down until our foreheads touched. "Joshua," I whispered, "please tell me what you want."

His breathing was so ragged. I could feel him trembling and my own body shook in sympathy.

"I w-want," he stammered, then swallowed and tried again, "I want to...to touch you."

His hands slid up and down my sides, wanting to go other places, but too uncertain to go through with it. I kissed him lightly, then took a step back and reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up. Joshua's eyes widened, then he raised his arms so I could slip the shirt off and let it drop to the floor. This time it was my eyes that went wide. I knew he was solidly built, but I had no idea he was so fit. His torso looked like it had been sculpted, the muscles well defined, but not too bulky. The freckled stripes that ran down the sides of his neck continued down his chest, then curved out to his sides and eventually disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. As I followed them with my eyes I saw that below his nipples were four others, giving him six in total. His chest and belly were lightly dusted with brown hair.

"Wow," I said; not the most romantic choice, but certainly honest. And Joshua, bless him, actually blushed.

I placed my hand against his chest. His heartbeat was so fast and strong it felt like a sledgehammer beating against his ribs. I moved closer and started kissing the side of his neck, following the stripe down until I reached a nipple. My lips closed over it and I sucked gently. Joshua gasped, then let out a deep moan. My hands slid down to fondle two of his lower nipples while I lightly bit the one in my mouth. Joshua let out a throaty growl and suddenly scooped me up in his arms. I gasped in surprise and instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist as he carried me across the room and shoved my back up against the wall, pinning me in place. He grabbed hold of my shirt and I barely had time to raise my arms before he all but ripped it off me and flung it aside. My ponytail came undone, spilling my long black hair across my shoulders. Joshua's mouth crashed into mine, kissing me with an aggressiveness he'd never shown before. So much for taking it slow. I gave back just as eagerly, biting his lower lip and tangling my tongue with his. I reached behind me and undid my bra, letting it fall away from me.

Joshua drew back so he could look at my breasts. For a moment he just stared, then he slowly raised his hands and tentatively covered my breasts with his large palms. I sighed at the feel of his hands on me. Then he began to caress my breasts with growing confidence. His thumbs stroked my nipples and he watched, fascinated, as they wrinkled and hardened at his touch.

He raised his eyes to mine and his mouth curved in a tender smile. "Joshua loves Skye."

My breath hitched in my throat. I could see in the way he looked at me that this wasn't just some adolescent crush. He meant it. It didn't matter that we'd only known each other a few weeks. He knew me better than anyone, even my own mother. Just as I knew him.

"I love you, too," I couldn't keep the unsteadiness out of my voice. The intensity of the emotion brought tears to my eyes.

Then there was a brisk knock and the door to my room opened to admit Logan with an armload of papers. He froze mid-step and gaped at the sight of us. Thankfully, what he mostly saw was Joshua's broad back, but with my bare shoulders peeking over his and my legs around his waist, it was pretty obvious what we'd been up to.

Joshua and I were too startled to be embarrassed. Logan, however, turned the brightest shade of red I'd ever seen and stuttered, "Uh...I..." With his free hand, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll come back later." He ducked out quickly and slammed the door shut.

I buried my face against Joshua's shoulder and lost myself in a fit of giggles. "Oh my god. He looked like he was having a stroke!"

Joshua's body shook and I realized he was laughing, too. This set me off again and the two of us spent the next couple of minutes trying to regain our composure. Finally, we pulled ourselves together and looked at each other, both of us silently agreeing that Logan's barging in had effectively killed the mood. Regretfully, Joshua set me down and we retrieved our discarded shirts, putting them back on.

"Well," I sighed, "since Logan's brought all his notes and photos I should get started on translating those runes."

Joshua shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Want me to stay?"

We both knew he wouldn't be able to help me and his presence might even be a distraction. But I didn't want to just send him away, either. Then an idea popped into my head. I went over to the corner where I'd left my bag and rummaged inside until I found the key to my hotel room. I held it out to him. "Could you do me a favor and get my things from the hotel? Obviously, I won't be going back there anytime soon and I'm gonna need a change of clothes at some point."

Joshua grinned, happy to be doing something useful. He took the key and put it in his pocket. "Okay. I'll ask Alec to come with me. Hotel staff might get nervous if they see only me."

I smiled and put my arms around his waist. "There's something else. On the dresser is a black leather case with a camera inside it. It's the first camera I ever owned. I've had it since I was a kid. There's also a photo album with all my personal photos. These things are very special to me, Joshua. I'd be very sad if I lost them."

Joshua ruffled my loose hair. "I'm on it."

"Thanks." I kissed him one last time, then watched sadly as he left. A minute later there was a hesitant knock at the door. I grinned. "Come on in, Logan. It's safe now."

The door creaked open and Logan peered in, just in case, before entering and shutting it behind him. He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about waltzing in like that. I should've waited till you said to come in."

"It's okay," I chuckled, "It's not like we planned for that to happen."

Logan set the stack of papers on the table, next to the tray of food Joshua brought and that I pretty much forgot about. He turned to face me, hands in his pockets. "Looks like things are getting serious between you two."

I sobered a little. "I'm not sure how the others will take it. Ordinaries aren't all that popular around here, let alone Familiars."

Logan shrugged. "Not too many people are thrilled about me and Max, but we make it work."

Somehow I forgot that he and Max were from two very different worlds. They fit each other so well. "When did you know you loved her?"

"When did I _know?_" he thought about it, "I'm not sure. There was a lot of denial on both sides for a long time. But I guess I knew for sure when I thought she was killed." His eyes got that faraway look that came with remembered pain. "It's funny how all our self-imposed doubts disappear when something terrible happens, often when it's too late to do anything about it."

I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. "I think I love Joshua."

Logan smiled in understanding. "Terrifying, isn't it?"

"Yeah. But it's also the best thing that's ever happened to me."

He nodded. "I know what you mean."

The two of us stood in silent camaraderie for a moment, then I ventured a question, "How're the others handling this? Me?"

Logan leaned against the wall, his expression thoughtful. "Well, Dix and Luke are pretty subdued. Guess they're still trying to get a handle on things. Alec...he's tough to read at the best of times, but I'm guessing he's trying to work out how he feels about it all. Max is just focusing on stopping the Conclave's plans, so she hasn't had time to get worked up about letting a Familiar walk in right under her nose." He smirked.

"And Mole?" I braced myself for the worst.

Logan pursed his lips. "Mole's...angry. Even for him."

I gazed down at the worn floorboards. "I was just getting him to start trusting me. Now I'm afraid he'll never trust anyone again and it's my fault."

Logan came over and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Don't beat yourself up too much," he said, "Mole's issues go back way longer than he's known you."

"I know. I just... I know this sounds silly, but I like him and I wanted to be his friend. He seems so alone."

"And you can identify with that," Logan squeezed my shoulder, "That doesn't seem silly at all."

I sighed and walked over to the table and its waiting stack of papers. "I should get started on translating all this."

"Want any help?"

I looked over my shoulder at him and smiled. "No, thanks. I work better alone."

"Okay. Let one of the guys outside know if you need anything."

"I will."

With a nod, Logan exited the room, leaving me on my own. I pulled up a chair, sat down, and started sorting through the papers.

* * *

><p>Like the ancient Minoan it resembled, each rune contained multiple meanings, which made translating them a time consuming process even for the most experienced Familiars. It was more like a code than straightforward writing. The advantage was that a great deal of information could be crammed into a relatively small space. I spent hours filling page after page of yellow legal paper with my translations. I felt like I was back in school again, writer's cramp and all.<p>

The first part was a general history of the Familiars, our culture and the danger we presented to Transgenics, not to mention the threat of the Coming—or rather, the plague. It also told of Sandeman's personal history, how for years he argued over the merits of modern science such as genetic engineering, fighting against thousands of years of tradition. Then discovering that his youngest son was not immune to the pathogen and the epiphany that followed; that _all_ life, not just Familiars', was precious and equally deserving of being preserved. And that was when Sandeman became a heretic and dedicated his life to creating the one being who could save the rest of humanity: Max.

I set my pencil down and leaned back in the chair, flexing my poor cramped hand and rolling the kinks out of my shoulders. I could tell from the complexity of the runes that the rest of Sandeman's message was going to be way more in-depth and probably loaded with technical jargon. I just hope he simplified it enough for me to translate; I'm not a scientist, after all.

The room was windowless, so I had no idea how much time passed until I checked my watch. My eyebrows shot up. Damn, I'd been at it for hours! It was well past nightfall.

An uneasy feeling crept into my stomach. Shouldn't Joshua have been back from the hotel by now? Maybe he was back and just didn't want to disturb me while I worked, I told myself. Still, the worry gnawed at me. I got up and opened the door. The guards were right where I saw them last, looking bored.

"Hey," I said to the closer one, "Has Joshua been by here?"

A strange look passed between the two X5's. They straightened and the one I'd spoken to said, "Come with us."

The worry became a hard stone weighing me down inside. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other so I wouldn't freeze from the desire to avoid what was about to happen. The guards led me down to the control center. Even though it was crowded, the place was eerily quiet. Max noticed my arrival and walked towards me. There was something in her expression...

The others noticed me, too. Some of them glanced at me and quickly looked away. Others stared with expressions I could only describe as pitying. Mole was there, his golden eyes watching me, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"Did you finish the translation?" Max asked, though I could tell she was mostly stalling.

"Some," I said, then bluntly asked, "Where's Joshua?"

The expression on the pretty X5's face became more pronounced and I finally recognized it for what it was; guilt. Guilt and sadness.

Panic welled up in me. "What happened? What aren't you telling me?"

Max's mouth opened, but no words came out. I looked around frantically, hoping someone might have an answer, and that was when I saw Alec. He stood alone, his face covered in bruises and scrapes, and his usual laid-back attitude was gone, replaced with something far more somber.

A shudder ran through me. "Oh god..."

"There were men watching the hotel," Max finally explained, "Familiars. They saw Alec and Joshua leaving with your things and-"

My brain struggled to drown out her words with a litany of no's. _No no no no no..._

But they couldn't blot out Max's last sentence. "Joshua was shot."


	11. Sympathy

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p>"<em>When there is pain, there are no words. All pain is the same." -Toni Morrison<em>

_And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars_

_And they pulse again with a keener sting-_

_-"Sympathy" by Paul Laurence Dunbar_

2001

When the police came to inform my mother of my father's death, I saw something disappear from her eyes forever. She didn't make a big scene, didn't scream or curse God or beg for it all to be a mistake. She went about the normal routines of everyday living and people admired her stoicism. But I could see the difference. The sorrow radiated from her, only it was the opposite of a glow.

I thought about it for years, how grief could transform someone the way radiation corrupted cells. It was the one pain even Familiars were susceptible to. You'd think that would have brought us closer, but in the end it created a rift between me and my mother that neither one of us saw until it was too wide to span.

My mother wasn't the same person since my father died. Neither of us was.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

"Joshua was shot."

I don't remember what happened after I heard those words. It was like I slipped into a gray fog. There was a loud keening sound and, even fainter, voices whose words I couldn't make out. Gradually the fog cleared and I found myself sitting on the floor, my head bowed with exhaustion and grief. My throat was raw and my face wet. Someone was behind me; there was a hard chest against my back and a pair of strong arms around me, hands gripping my wrists so I couldn't move. I saw with a dazed kind of puzzlement that there was blood caked under the nails of my right hand.

There were people crouched in front of me and standing around, their faces all worried and a little scared, all staring at me. And I wondered why they were looking at me like that; why Max was kneeling in front of me looking like she was fighting tears. Then suddenly it all came flooding back, the news that Joshua was gone. He was dead, and all I wanted was to go back to that gray place. My eyes blurred and sharp-edged sobs tore through my abused throat.

Max took my face in her hands and forced me to look at her. "Listen, Skye. _Listen to me_," her dark eyes and stern tone pierced my fog of grief, "Joshua is _not dead_. He was shot, but he's at the hospital right now getting taken care of. He's still alive."

I blinked stupidly, the meaning of her words slow to sink in. "H-he's... He's not dead?"

Max shook her head. "No."

More tears, this time from relief. Joshua... I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if he'd died. It was my fault. I knew the Conclave was watching me and I sent an obvious Transgenic to get my things from the hotel. What was I thinking! The guilt was almost worse than the grief. I drew away from Max's comforting hand on my shoulder. It was too much for me to deal with now. "Please," my voice rasped, "leave me alone."

Max looked up at whoever was behind me and nodded. The strong arms helped me to my feet and let go of my wrists. My arms hung limp at my sides. I didn't look up from my scuffed sneakers as whoever it was put an arm around my shoulders and gently coaxed me out of the control center and up the stairs leading to my room, pausing for a second to take something Dix handed over.

I was like a zombie, numbly following the other's lead. When we got to my bare little room I was made to sit on the edge of the bed. That was when I finally raised my eyes and, even through the numbness, felt a little shock at discovering it was Mole who was with me. He cleared the papers I'd worked on off the table and dragged it over along with the chair, setting the table between us and seating himself across from me. He placed the object Dix had given him on the table; a rectangular box with a red cross painted on. He opened the lid and held his hand out to me. "Lemme see your arm."

Confused, I rested my arm on the table and gasped at what I saw. The sleeve was already pulled up and the caduceus symbol was covered in deep scratches, some of them still seeping blood. Now that I noticed it, I felt the wounds begin to throb. "W-what...?"

"You started tearing into it the second Max gave you the bad news," Mole explained, taking hold of my wrist. He eyed the gouges clinically. "Better clean that off."

"It's fine." I tried to pull my arm away, but the lizard-man's grip tightened. His eye ridges drew together in a stern frown.

"You'll get an infection," he stated, "And in TC that'd be even nastier than outside the wall."

"I don't get infections." I shouldn't have to tell him this, I thought with vague annoyance. He saw me swallow poison like it was nothing.

"Should at least take a Tylenol-"

"No!" I snapped, my frayed emotions getting the better of me, "My immune system doesn't know the difference between poisons and drugs. Nothing affects me, get it? _I'm not like you!_"

Mole stared at me, probably too startled by my outburst to get mad. I turned my head aside and stared at the off-white wall. "I'm not like anyone," I mumbled, suddenly exhausted, "Just...just go away."

The room was completely still for a long moment. When Mole did move, it wasn't to leave. He was still holding my wrist and with his other hand he dug out an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit and used it to clean away the blood. I hissed at the sting, but didn't try to stop him; I couldn't muster the energy. I just stared dully at the wall while he pressed a gauze pad to my scratches and wound bandage tape around my arm. If I'd been more myself, I would have been surprised at his gentleness.

As he wrapped up my arm, he remarked, "Thought you Breeder Cult guys didn't feel pain."

"I'm special," I said bitterly.

Mole didn't say anything to that. Instead, he started to tell me something else; something I wasn't sure I'd ever hear from him, "When Manticore burned down, I almost didn't make it out. Most of my unit didn't. It wasn't the heat that got to us, it was the smoke. We were falling down right and left, choking to death. Getting trampled and shot at by the guards. I wound up on the floor with a bullet in my leg, wheezing like an asthmatic, and I remember thinking 'This is it.' After all the shit I survived, all those skirmishes and high-risk ops they sent me on, this is how I go out, taken down by the assholes I was made to fight for."

My imagination brought the scene to vivid life: the smoke-filled hallway, the flickering flames, gunfire and panicked screams, Mole dragging himself through the blood and smoke, then collapsing, waiting to die.

"Then something weird came out of the smoke," he continued, his tone almost matter-of-fact, "I couldn't see it too clearly, but it grabbed me by the arm and dragged my ass outta there. Out of the building and I dunno how many meters through that rough terrain outside. We wound up crammed inside some abandoned animal's den and that's when I got my first look at her."

"Cat," I realized aloud.

Mole nodded. "I still don't know why she saved me outta all the others. Why she bothered saving anyone at all. We stayed in that hidey-hole till the next night, then kept moving. I remember seeing the rendezvous signal flashing up in the sky, but after what those bastards tried to do I wasn't about to obey orders anymore. Cat wound up carrying most of the load, including me, thanks to my leg. We pretty much avoided any signs of humans until we were hungry enough to get desperate. Even then we stuck to raiding isolated little farms. Still managed to get shot at once or twice, mainly when Cat figured out she liked chickens."

The corner of his mouth twitched in remembered amusement before his expression turned somber. "She was so jumpy. The world was just too big for her."

"How did you end up in Seattle?" I heard myself ask.

Mole sighed. "I still listened in on people once in a while. I heard about Terminal City, how all those biochemicals got loose and the humans abandoned the whole thing. I figured if there was anyplace we could go to avoid humans, it'd be there. And neither one of us was any good at outdoor life." He smirked. "Should've known some humans were too stupid to keep away from this place. We wound up living in the sewers. I would've moved on, but Cat liked it down there. She felt safe. Plus she wasn't picky about what she ate. More than a few of those homeless guys wound up losing their stray doggy friends thanks to her. I told her she could at least _cook_ the things..." he trailed off and his silence made me turn my head to look at him. For just a second his mask had slipped and I saw the grief in his eyes, grief I could understand all too well.

"We made a home for ourselves in one of the chambers we found," he continued, his voice a little quieter, "Cat had her own bed, but half the time I'd wake up and find her curled up beside me. Got so I had trouble sleeping if she _wasn't _with me. She wasn't so clingy anymore by then. Sometimes I wouldn't see her all day. She'd be off exploring the tunnels or hunting down some stray. But she always came back once night fell. Except one time she didn't."

Even though I knew where this was going—or maybe because of it—I felt fresh tears sting my eyes as Mole told me how he spent the entire night searching the sewers for Cat. I could practically see him stumbling through the dark underground maze, calling out for her hopelessly. Then morning came, the first rays of daylight peeking through the mouths of the rain gutters, and that was when he found her. What was left of her. The killer had left her where she'd fallen and the rats took advantage of an easy meal. Mole probably killed a dozen of them in his rage. When there were no more scavengers in his reach, he sat in the wet filth and stared at his friend's remains. He didn't cry or scream or curse, he just sat there the entire day. Then when evening fell, he picked up Cat's body and brought her to the surface.

"I'm not sure which is worse," he muttered, staring down at the scarred tabletop, "Never finding the bastard who did it, or wondering if I could've saved if if I'd been there."

"You couldn't have known that would happen," I said.

Mole smiled without humor and shook his head. "I shouldn't have let her go off alone like that. No place is ever safe when humans are around." He looked at me and his eyes were filled with bleak sorrow. "They call us killing machines, but they've been killing each other off way longer than we've been around. They figured out how to create new life, and what to they do with that genetic know-how? They use it to make meaner, faster, tougher soldiers to fight _their_ fucking wars. They bred us and branded us like cattle, and when they couldn't control us anymore they hunted us like animals and left our bodies for the rats. And they call _us_ monsters," he snorted bitterly, "And people wonder why I hate 'em so much."

I swallowed a lump in my throat and looked at my bandaged arm, at the symbol hidden underneath. "Bred and branded," I echoed.

Our eyes met and something passed between us. An understanding that didn't need to be spoken. Sometimes friendships form from knowing the same pain.

A knock at the door shattered the moment, then Luke slipped in. "Just got a call from the hospital. Joshua's outta surgery," he said.

I tensed. "Is he okay?" I braced myself for the worst.

But Luke smiled and I knew even before he told me, "He's gonna be fine."

* * *

><p>I understood why Max put off telling me about Joshua getting shot. It was one of those coldly logical reasons that every good leader hated themselves for making, even though they had to; she didn't tell me because I was the only one who could translate the runes for her. And she couldn't afford to have me distracted by this new disaster. As I said, I understood her reasons. But that didn't mean I wasn't going to hold it against her.<p>

"I'm not translating another sentence," I stated bluntly, "until you let me see him."

Max was sympathetic, even though she shook her head. "We talked about this. You can't leave Terminal City."

"So I _am_ a prisoner."

"No," she said firmly, "It's for your own safety. If the Familiars see you step out that gate, we might not be able to protect you-"

"Then send a guard out with me," I interrupted, my voice rising with my frustration, "Send _fifty_ guards! But I have to see that Joshua's alright."

"We told you he's fine," Max insisted, "He'll be out of the hospital in a couple of days. I promise to let you know the second he get's back."

I was about ready to start screaming at that point when a heavy hand on my shoulder held me back. I glanced behind and to my right to find Mole towering over me. I expected him to drag me back to my room, but he surprised everyone by saying to Max, "Sneak her out through the tunnel."

"What tunnel?" I turned back to Max, who threw Mole a look that wasn't at all happy.

"The tunnel's not an option, Mole. You know that."

"What tunnel?" I repeated a little louder.

"C'mon, Max," Mole coaxed, "What if it was Logan laid up in the hospital? Would you wanna wait to see him?"

Max sighed, biting her lip as she debated with herself. I waited tensely for her decision. Finally, she nodded. "Okay. I just hope I'm not gonna regret this."

Minutes later Alec and my two original guards escorted me through an underground tunnel which led straight to the building where Logan lived, outside the TC wall. Aside from the gate, it was the only other way in or out of Terminal City and only a handful of people knew it even existed. I realized the risk they were taking in trusting me with this knowledge and made a silent promise never to abuse it.

Logan met us on the other side. He tossed Alec a set of keys. "You can take my car. It's nondescript enough nobody will give it a second look."

"Thanks," Alec replied. I gave Logan a grateful smile, he nodded and smiled back.

Aside from taking the backdoor out of TC, I also took the precaution of hiding myself under a baggy set of borrowed clothes with my hair tied up in a bun and stuffed under a baseball cap. Thankfully, it was raining outside, which gave me the excuse of also pulling up the hood on my jacket. Me, the guards, and Alec jogged over to Logan's car and piled in. I fidgeted in the backseat as we passed through each checkpoint and traffic delay, sitting up when the impersonal gray shape of the hospital building came into view.

"Welcome to Harbor Lights," Alec said drily, steering the car into an available parking space and killing the engine.

I all but jumped out of the car and fought the urge to run ahead of the others. The doors swished open and cold, antiseptic smelling air assaulted us. Alec walked over to the front desk and asked the nurse stationed there for Joshua's room number. I tried not to fidget while I waited. The two guards leaned against the wall to either side of me, looking relaxed and calm. I wondered if that was part of their old training or if they really were that unconcerned.

Alec stepped away from the desk and gestured for us to follow. I hurried after him, the guards right behind me. We followed a corridor down a couple of turns and stopped in front of a nondescript door with the number 211 on it. Alec knocked once, then opened the door. I took a breath before entering, preparing myself for the sight of Joshua unconscious and hooked up to tubes and machines that breathed for him. But the only machine was the heart monitor beeping away, the only tube leading to a standard i.v. bag, and Joshua was awake and sitting up in the hospital bed. There was a mostly empty meal tray in front of him, the only thing left a cup of green Jell-O that Joshua was eying in fascinated disgust. He looked up at our arrival and the second his eyes caught sight of me his whole face lit up. I lost what little self control I had and ran to him, throwing my arms around his neck and burying my face against his shoulder. I was dimly aware of retreating footsteps and the sound of the door closing as the others left the room.

"You came to visit!" Joshua cried in delight. His arms went around me in a reassuringly strong hug.

"I'm sorry," I choked, my voice muffled against his hospital gown, "I almost got you killed."

"It's not your fault, Skye," he said, gently rubbing my back.

"You were shot because of me."

"I was shot because someone pointed a gun at me," his simple logic brought a laugh out of me, in spite of my guilt. I straightened and wiped my tears on my sleeves. Joshua smiled and pointed at a nearby cabinet. "Didn't lose your camera and album. Nurses put them in there with Joshua's clothes."

His thoughtfulness almost made me cry again. I was such an emotional wreck. I looked him over. "Where were you hit?"

"Here," he pointed at a spot high on his right side, "Lotta bandages. Lotta stitches. Won't even be a scar after I heal." He grinned.

I placed my hand over the spot and felt the padding of the bandages under the gown. I looked into Joshua's blue eyes. He smiled and pulled off my cap, letting my hair spill out. He set the cap on the nightstand and ran his fingers through my loose hair. I touched the side of his face, stroking the hair of his sideburn. Joshua abruptly shifted his body, wincing a little in pain.

"What're you doing?" I asked.

Joshua patted the narrow space on the bed he'd made beside him in obvious invitation. I hesitated, glanced at the shut door, then shed my jacket and tossed it over a chair. I squeezed myself in the narrow hospital bed beside Joshua, lying on my side with my head pillowed against his chest and my arm draped over him. I could hear the comforting beat of his heart pumping in time to the heart monitor's beeps. Joshua slowly ran his hand down my arm until he encountered the bandage hidden by my sleeve. I felt him tense a little. "What happened?"

"Nothing important," I told him, then I kissed the crook of his neck and murmured, "Skye loves Joshua."

I heard the smile in his voice when he responded, "Joshua loves Skye."


	12. Snapshots

**A/N:** Kind of a short chapter and not terribly plot driven. I figured Skye could use a breather after all she's just been through. Hopefully, this won't be too dull. ;-)

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p><em>Every memory of looking out the back door<em>

_I had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor_

_It's hard to say_

_It's time to say it_

_Goodbye, goodbye_

_Every memory of walking out the front door_

_I found the photo of the friend that I was looking for_

_It's hard to say_

_It's time to say it_

_Goodbye, goodbye_

_-Nickelback, "Photograph"_

1998-1999

A smattering of my earliest, clearest memories:

My grandmother's hands, skin as fragile as paper, as soft as her kisses, cool against my hot face after running out in the July sun.

Sneaking into my parents' bedroom one early morning, watching them sleep, my father's arm around my mother's waist, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

Falling into the deep end of the public swimming pool, watching the bubbles pour out of my mouth, too startled to be scared until the lifeguard pulls me out and I stumble, crying, to my relieved mother.

Dozing in the backyard hammock with my father, the sunlight dappling us, my little body cushioned by his chest and belly, my head slowly rising and dropping with each of his breaths.

Watching the pretty garden spider wrap an unlucky grasshopper in sticky threads like a miniature mummy.

Feeling someone's warm lips press against my forehead while tears blur my eyes.

Standing on my father's feet while we "dance."

Petting the fearsome stray dog no one else goes near, its warm wet tongue swiping the back of my little hand before it runs away.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

We snuggled together in the hospital bed for maybe ten minutes when there was a brief knock and a man in a standard white lab coat entered. Most of my experiences with doctors weren't all that pleasant, but there was something about the way he smiled at us that immediately put me at ease. He was a middle-aged man of average height, bald with a fringe of dark hair. When he looked at Joshua, there wasn't a trace of shock or repugnance; he might have been seeing any old patient.

"You must be Skye," he said in a friendly voice while I awkwardly wriggled out of the bed and stood to face him. He held out his hand. "Doctor Samuel Carr. I'm an old friend of Logan and Max."

Which meant he was trustworthy and Joshua was in good care. I shook his hand. "You did the surgery?"

He nodded.

"Thank you."

"Well, a lot of it was luck and Joshua's Transgenic resiliency," the doctor said modestly, "He's already recovering much faster than a fully human patient would."

He walked over to the bed and checked Joshua's vitals, asking a few questions and looking pleased with the answers. "I still want to keep you under observation for another day," he told Joshua, "Just to be safe."

"Then Joshua can go home?" the dog-man asked, a little anxious.

Doctor Carr smiled and nodded. "I think it'll be alright, as long as you don't strain yourself and give your body a chance to heal."

Joshua readily agreed, "Take it easy. That's the plan."

I smiled and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. Then Doctor Carr turned to me with an apologetic look on his face. "I'm afraid I'll have to cut your visit short. It's late and Joshua needs his rest."

My heart sank, but I knew he was right. I was lucky to see him at all, considering visiting hours were supposed to be over. I bent down and gave Joshua a kiss while Doctor Carr politely turned away. "I don't know if I'll be able to visit again," I whispered.

Joshua shook his head. "Not safe for you out here. Stay in TC. I'll see you soon."

Tears prickled my eyes. I was more than a little worried for _his_ safety, but Alec had reassured me earlier that he had people watching over him. I tried to focus on that as I kissed Joshua one last time, said goodbye to Doctor Carr, and headed for the exit, making a slight detour to retrieve my camera and album from the cabinet.

The ride back to Terminal City was more subdued. I sat in the backseat with my possessions in my lap, staring at the worn brown cover, the scuffed black leather case. For years these were the most treasured things in my life, now part of me wanted to fling them out the window for almost costing Joshua his life. What stopped me wasn't sentiment so much as knowing how disappointed Joshua would be if I threw everything away.

I felt a sense of relief when the wall came into view. We got out of the parked car and entered the building where Logan made his home. Alec returned the car keys, then he and the guards and myself took the tunnel back into TC. It almost felt like coming home.

Max was waiting in the control center, standing by the rows of monitors with her arms crossed. "How is he?"

"He's okay," I said, "Doctor Carr says he'll be able to leave the hospital in another day or so. He was lucky."

Max uncrossed her arms and put a hand on my shoulder. "And what about you?" she asked quietly, "Are you okay?"

I snorted ruefully. "Well enough to keep working on those translations, if that's what you mean."

"It wasn't. Well," she smirked, "partly. But that wasn't the only reason."

"I'm sorry this happened," I turned to Alec, "I'm sorry I asked you and Joshua to risk yourselves. I should've known better."

Alec, whose bruises were already fading just a few hours later, flashed his signature careless smile. "Don't beat yourself up too much. It's not like you're the one who jumped us."

"But I put you in that situation," I argued, "And now the Conclave knows I betrayed them and their plans are at risk."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Alec said, "When those goons led us into that alley at gunpoint they started asking us questions about where we were keeping you. The way they worded it sounds like they believe you're being held captive. They probably think we caught you trying to drop that poison capsule they gave you."

This startled me. I'd pretty much resigned myself to spending the rest of my life as an outcast and now I found out I still had a choice to return to my people. I could "escape" once I finished translating the runes for Max and go back to my old life without fear of being punished by the Conclave. I wasn't sure how I felt about that and said as much.

"Let's not burn any bridges," Max suggested, "Letting them believe you're our prisoner could give us an edge."

"Only as long as they know I'm still alive," I said, "Best way to to that would be to let me finish my next article and send it out to my editor."

"Won't the Conclave suspect we just sent out a fake article after killing you?" Alec asked.

I shook my head. "There's a code I can sneak into the text. When the Conclave reads the next issue they'll know I'm still alive and being held captive by you. I can also leak them false info to buy us some time." I marveled at how easy it was for me to continue these betrayals. The more secrets I shared, the less the guilt affected me. Maybe it was because I knew I was betraying the Conclave and not all Familiar-kind. Or maybe I really had no morals.

A sudden yawn interrupted my pondering. It had been a long, exhausting day and all I could think about at that moment was falling into bed. "If it's alright, I think I'd like to turn in."

Max smiled and gave my shoulder a squeeze before turning me loose. "Go ahead. There's nothing that can't wait till tomorrow."

I shuffled up the stairs and into my room, placing the album and camera case on the table before flopping onto the bed. My last conscious action was to kick off my shoes before I dropped into a (thankfully) dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>Dix came to see me not long after I finished breakfast. I was sitting on the floor with the album open in front of me. It was thick and heavy, more like a tome than a simple photo album. It was designed so that more pages could be added and over the years that's just what I did to accommodate all the pictures I'd taken and wanted to hold onto. I looked up from a spread of images from my highschool days and smiled at the 'Nomaly. "Hey."<p>

"Hey. I brought your cellphone," he held it out to me, "Max figured you'd wanna get in touch with your editor."

I took the phone and eyed it suspiciously. "You think you can trust me with this?"

Dix shrugged, "Max seems to think so. Besides, I bugged it, so I'll know every number you dial out and every call you receive."

I chuckled. "Is that a good idea, tipping me off like that?"

Dix shrugged nonchalantly, then peered at the album. "What're those?"

I glanced down at the photos. They weren't what one would expect in a personal album; no pictures of friends clustered together, scenes from vacations, family get-togethers. What was on these pages were what looked like random images; nondescript streets, a crowded auditorium, cloud patterns, a pile of leaves burning in someone's yard.

"They're reminders," I said, "I look at these and I remember when I took the photos and why. It's not the big events that interest me, but the little moments that are too easy to overlook. When I look through my camera's eye, I see how everything is worth preserving, even if it's just that one second in a crappy day when you think maybe things aren't so bad after all."

The corners of Dix's mouth twitched. "I've had a few of those."

"Everyone does." I turned the page. There was an image of a front lawn with a toddler in a sandbox and an older boy crouched in front of her. It was obvious from the wetness on her cheeks and the runny nose that the girl had been crying over something, and it was just as obvious that her older brother had distracted her from her tears. The boy's face was twisted in a goofy cross-eyed expression. The toddler's eyes were wide with amazement and you just knew in a second she'd start laughing. I'd never seen either of those two children before I captured that instant with my camera, and I haven't seen them since.

I flipped to the last picture I added to the album before accepting the assignment to Terminal City. A stray cat, one eye scarred over, its tail crooked, lounged on a park bench beside a man in a business suit. The man was reading the _Wall Street Journal_ and absently scratching the cat behind its ear. I turned the page again and saw only blankness. It seemed appropriate; a clear division between my old life, with all its knowable paths, and this knew life with a future I couldn't begin to guess at.

"Looks like you still got some pages to fill," Dix observed.

I picked up the case and opened it, drawing out the camera Moorhead gave to me so many years ago. I loaded a roll of film with practiced hands, pulled off the lens cap and peered through the eye. "This is the camera that started it all."

"Looks old," Dix remarked.

"It is." I looked up at him and smiled. "Thanks for bringing my phone."

"Not a problem. Lemme know if you need anything else." He turned to leave. As he walked out the door I raised the camera. I saw the image I would capture the instant before I depressed the button: Dix halfway out, the door blocking his face so only the back of his misshapen head was visible along with his hand gripping the doorknob, his arm and shoulder, and one leg. _Click _went the shutter. Dix froze for just a second and I knew, even though I couldn't see his face, that he smiled. Then he stepped the rest of the way out and shut the door behind him.


	13. Home

**A/N:** This chapter's for grownup eyes only! That's why it's rated M. You youngsters out there better look away now. Consider yourselves warned.

The lyrics featured later in this chapter are from the song "Furr" by a group called Blitzen Trapper.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p><em>Whenever I'm alone with you<em>

_You make me feel like I am free again_

_Whenever I'm alone with you_

_You make me feel like I am clean again_

_However far away I will always love you_

_However long I stay I will always love you_

_Whatever words I say I will always love you_

_I will always love you_

_-The Cure, "Love Song"_

2000

My parents were lucky. Though the Conclave paired them, their love for each other was very real. I saw it in all the little things they did: the casual touches; the way my father always fixed my mother a cup of coffee whenever he poured one for himself; how they held hands when we went for walks. Those and maybe a hundred other little signs of affection were so normal I took them for granted when I saw them. I didn't truly appreciate what they had until the Conclave arranged my marriage years later. The loveless nature of my relationship with Owen made me envy my parents. Their time together might have been cut short, but I'm sure if I asked my mother, if I had a way to ask my father, they would say it was worth every second. If my mother had been able to somehow look into the future and known the pain of my father's death, I think she would have let herself love him anyway.

As if anyone can control something as unpredictable as love.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

I threw myself into my work to distract myself from Joshua's absence. I finished the article for the next issue of _Modern Events—_complete with specially chosen words and phrases to pass on my fake coded message to the Conclave—and sent it off along with the photos to the home office. Amazingly, in spite of everything that'd happened recently, I still got it all to my editor before the deadline.

Next, I turned my attention to the runes that still needed translating. I'd already given the pages I completed so far to Max for her and those in the loop to pore over, but the answers they looked for were probably in what I was working on now. We all knew Max was made to be the cure for the pathogen, now I needed to find out how she was supposed to go about doing that. The solution, when I got to it, was...ingenious.

Stiff and exhausted, I carried the stack of loose pages downstairs to the control center. Max was there, as usual, talking over something with Alec and Mole at the big round table in the center of the room. They all quieted when they saw me coming.

"I'm finished," I announced simply and dumped the papers onto the table.

Alec picked up the top page and scanned my cramped handwriting. "This is gonna take a while," he snorted.

"Can you give us the gist of it?" Max asked.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. All I really wanted right then was to go back to my room and fall into bed for a well-deserved nap. "It's clever as hell, I'll give him that. Sandeman's message says not only are you the source of the cure, but you're also designed to create the delivery system."

Max frowned. "Delivery system?"

From up in the media center, the ever-knowledgeable Dix spoke up, "Makes sense. Coming up with a cure's only half the solution. After that, we need a way to _get_ the cure to everyone in the shortest amount of time possible. Something faster than the usual method for distributing vaccinations. Remember how long it took for last year's flu vaccine to reach Seattle? And this wasn't the last place to get it, either."

He was right. Producing and transporting vaccine was a months-long process. Time the Conclave might not allow. But Sandeman came up with something much more effective.

I rummaged through the papers until I found the ones I was looking for hand handed them to Max. As she read them, her eyes grew wider and her mouth parted in amazement. "This..." she laughed in astonishment, "This is the cleverest idea I've ever seen."

"Well, don't leave us hangin'," Mole griped, biting down on his cigar, "What's it say?"

She looked up at the curious faces around her. "We gotta start an epidemic."

Transgenic genetic engineering is all about shortcuts. Instead of tinkering with human DNA to create desired characteristics from scratch, genes taken from animals with those same characteristics are spliced with human genes. Even with the many errors that often result—the 'Nomalies and worse—this way was still much faster and more efficient. Sandeman pioneered Transgenic-engineering for that reason, and it was with this mindset that he created Max to do what would have taken a state-of-the art lab months, even years, to accomplish.

Max's specially made immune system produced the vaccine every time she was exposed to the pathogen. That was Step One. Step Two required exposing her to a second, relatively harmless disease: rhinovirus, also known as the common cold. And here's where Sandeman's genius showed itself. Instead of destroying the rhinovirus, Max's immune system would graft the pathogen vaccine to it, creating the world's first contagious vaccination. Like all pesky colds, it would spread like wildfire. Every human being who got a runny nose this year would instantly become immune to the Familiar-bred plague. Humanity would be saved without ever knowing it was even in danger.

"This is, like, reverse bio-warfare," Luke declared, having joined everyone else at the table to see what all the excitement was about.

Mole chewed his cigar stub in displeasure. "Who's to say we oughta go through with it?" he said, "Not like the human race ever did anything for us."

I was too tired to hide my appalled expression. "You'd really take part in genocide?"

"Hey, _we're_ not the ones planning to set off a plague," he snapped defensively.

"No," Max said, "But we do have the ability to stop it. Which makes us just as guilty if we decide to do nothing."

Mole scoffed, "You think they'd do anything for us if we were the ones being threatened?"

"Yeah, I do. Some of them, at least."

"Sure. Like your boyfriend, Saint Logan," he sneered.

"Mole," I touched his sleeve, earning a dangerous glare from him, "Not all of us hate you." I wasn't just speaking for Familiars, but for the rest of humanity as well. "And I can't believe that you hate us enough to let something this terrible happen."

The look he gave me was venomous, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he was conceding the point, or maybe he was saving up his tirade for later, away from prying eyes and ears.

"It might be a moot point either way," I sighed, "I can see getting the cold virus without any trouble, but how are we supposed to get hold of the pathogen? It's strictly controlled and guarded by the Conclave."

Max and Alec shared a look and smirked.

"I don't think it'll be that much of a problem," Max remarked drily.

I frowned. "What d'you mean?"

"Just let us worry about it. You'd better start thinking about heading over to Joshua's"

I gasped as it suddenly occurred to me what day it was. "Oh, shit. He's coming home today! I can't believe I forgot!"

"Well, you _have_ been kinda busy," Alec remarked, sifting through the piles of translations I'd written.

Mole got up from the stool he was sitting on. "C'mon, I'll take you over."

I made a quick detour up to my room to grab a couple of things, said a hasty goodbye to everyone, then followed the lizard-man out. As I walked beside him, I craned my neck to look at him. Funny, even though there was only a couple of inches difference between his and Joshua's height, Joshua always seemed so much bigger to me. I would've thought it would be the other way around; Mole was such a powerfully daunting personality, he seemed to loom over everyone even when he was sitting down. Maybe Joshua's innate gentleness made it easier for my mind to grasp his size; a gentle giant.

I stared up at Mole's profile. I couldn't read his expression. "Are you angry with me?" I asked.

His yellow eyes glanced at me, then looked straight ahead. "For what?"

"You know."

He shrugged his broad shoulders. "No point holding a grudge every time somebody argues with me. I'd be feuding with the whole city if I did that."

"So, we're still friends?"

I smiled a little at the surprised look he gave me. "Friends? Where the hell didya get that idea?"

"Well, why shouldn't we be friends?" I reasoned.

"I can think of about a hundred reasons."

Now it was my turn to shrug. "None of them matter to me. You might not wanna be _my_ friend, but like it or not, I consider myself _your_ friend. You're just gonna have to deal with it."

"Don't think I won't," Mole retorted, laying on the intimidation.

"Fine," I said flippantly.

"Fine."

We walked in silence the rest of the way. I glanced at him sidelong. He looked back with a scowl, but I wasn't fooled; I saw the amusement in his eye.

I walked faster as Joshua's colorful building came into view, my tiredness forgotten. I wanted to run, even though I knew he wasn't there yet. It felt like I was coming home.

Mole and I parted ways at the front door. "He should be here in the next half hour or so," he said.

"Thanks," I said, "I mean, for a lot of things."

He smirked. "Y'know what they say; us freaks gotta stick together."

"Right," I chuckled. I waved as he turned away, then went inside and hurried up the stairs to Joshua's apartment. His personality was everywhere, but without him, it felt more ghostly than comforting. I shuddered, pushing aside that gloomy thought. Joshua was okay, I reminded myself. This wasn't the time for dark thinking. I set the things I brought—the album and my camera—on an end table and wandered over to the kitchenette. I didn't think it was appropriate to tidy up another person's home, since I didn't know how he liked it, but maybe he'd appreciate a meal. Something other than hospital food (Yes, I know, an obvious dig, but come on! It's hospital food!). I heated up some soup and found a package of dinner rolls that I warmed up in the microwave since there wasn't an oven. Nothing left but to watch the clock and wait.

I paced, checked out the paintings leaning against the wall. The one Joshua painted for me was still on the easel. It looked like he'd worked on the fine detail since the last time I saw it. I felt a little choked up looking at it; it was such a personal gift. The fact that it was almost his last painting—stop it! No matter what I did, my mind kept dwelling on what might have happened. I hoped it would get better once I saw Joshua again.

And right on cue, the door opened and a familiar towering figure came in, walking on his own without any sign of discomfort. He flashed me that bright smile and I ran to him and threw my arms around him, careful not to squeeze too hard. I rested my head against his chest and shut my eyes. Joshua hugged me back just as eagerly and kissed the top of my head. "Missed you, Skye."

"I missed you, too," my voice was slightly muffled. I drew back to look up at him. "You hungry? I heated up some soup."

Joshua grinned. "Yeah."

I had him sit at the table and brought us each a bowl. I also set the dinner rolls on a plate between us. We ate quietly, but it was a comfortable silence. I could tell Joshua was tired. Once he was done eating I figured he'd go straight to bed, but as soon as I cleared away the dishes he got up and walked over to his easel. He took down my painting, carefully set it aside, and put a clean canvas in its place.

"You're gonna paint?" I asked, surprised.

He nodded, prying the lid off a can labeled burnt umber. "Had nightmares at the hospital. Painting helps."

I hesitated to ask the next question, "Can I watch?"

Joshua smiled at me, "Sure."

I found a stool tucked away in a corner. I pulled it over to a good viewing spot and sat down.

His clothes already bore a few old stains from earlier artwork, so there was no need to change. Once he had all the colors he wanted arranged on a side table, Joshua put a CD in the portable stereo and hit play. I wasn't sure what I expected, but it sure as heck wasn't the folksy tune the came out of the speakers.

_Yeah, when I was only seventeen_

_I could hear the angels whispering_

_So I droned into the words and wandered aimlessly about_

_Until I heard my mother shouting through the fog_

_It turned out to be the howling of a dog_

_Or a wolf to be exact, the sound sent shivers down my back_

_But I was drawn into the pack and before long..._

Joshua dipped a brush into one of the paint cans and made a flinging motion, splashing a curved stripe across the canvas. He dipped the brush again and smeared uneven blotches. As he got into it, his feet started to move in a funny little dance. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a giggle. If this was how he worked during a mild song, what was it like when he played rock or metal? He did a little jig during the chorus and I couldn't resist; I hopped down from the stool and grabbed my old camera, taking it out of its case. The light was bright enough I decided not to attach the flash. Besides, it might have distracted Joshua and that's the last thing I wanted.

_...You should have seen that girl go shaky at the knees_

_So I took her by the arm_

_We settled down upon a farm_

_And raised our children up as gently as you please_

_And now my fur has turned to skin_

_And I've been quickly ushered in_

_To a world that I confess I do not know..._

The shutter clicked again and again. As tired and sore as Joshua was, he didn't hold himself back. The look on his face was beyond simple happiness. This was his freedom. Just like photography was my freedom. I circled him, like part of the dance, watching him through my camera's eye and freezing little instances where nothing was hidden. I laughed at his unabashed silliness, was enthralled by his artistic passion, and smiled at the relaxed joy on his face. I didn't wonder anymore how I could love him so much in the little time we knew each other; I wondered why I didn't love him sooner.

_...You can wear your fur_

_Like a river on fire_

_But you better be sure_

_If you're makin' God a liar_

_I'm a rattlesnake, babe_

_I'm like fuel on fire_

_So if you're gonna get made_

_Don't be afraid of what you've learned_

The song came to an end. Joshua turned off the stereo and started putting his art supplies away.

"You're finished already?"

He shook his head. The energy he showed seconds ago was gone; he looked tired again. "Enough for now. I'll work on it more later."

I rested my camera on my lap. "I guess I should go, then."

He turned to me, a surprised look on his face. "Why?"

"Um, so you can get some rest." I fidgeted, dawdling.

Joshua came over and put his hands on my upper arms. "I don't want you to go."

I swallowed, staring up at his clear blue eyes. Even perched on a tall stool, I still had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. "I don't wanna leave," I confessed.

I'm not sure who kissed who first. Maybe we both leaned towards each other at the same time. It didn't matter. Joshua's hand slid up to cup the back of my head. I ran my tongue over the points of his teeth and moaned when his tongue invaded my mouth. My camera slipped off my lap. Luckily, I caught it by the shoulder strap and gently lowered it the rest of the way to the floor. With both hands free I tugged at the bottom of Joshua's shirt. He reluctantly broke off the kiss to let me pull the shirt off him, then quickly got me out of my tee and fumbled with the clasp of my bra. He made a satisfied noise when it came undone on his third try. I slipped the bra off and tossed it aside, undid my pony tail and shook out my hair. Joshua immediately buried his fingers in the loose strands and pulled me into another deep kiss. He kissed and nipped his way down my neck, my collar bone, down my chest.

"Joshua," I whispered, then gasped as his mouth closed over my right nipple. He nibbled gently, the sharp points of his teeth on my sensitive flesh sent tiny shocks through my body. For the first time in my life, I was glad that I could feel pain. He showed the same attention to my other breast, then kissed his way back up to my mouth.

I gently pushed him away and got off the stool. Kneeling down, I unzipped his jeans and slid them down his legs. His underwear was gray boxer-briefs. I stared at the large bulge in the front, then carefully eased his underwear down until I got my first look at Joshua's erection. I'd wondered if his penis was sheathed like a dog's, but I saw now that he was all human there, and big like everything else about him. I admit this made me a little nervous; it had been a long time since I had sex and there was bound to be some discomfort.

I wrapped my fingers around his erection, kissed the head and then took it into my mouth. Joshua let out a gasp. He moaned loudly as I took as much of him as I could in my mouth, my hand gliding up and down his shaft, my other hand resting on his hip. He was a virgin, I knew that, so I was ready when he came quickly. I swallowed everything he gave. Smiling, I stood up and put my arms around his waist. What I saw in his expression, though, made me frown with concern. "What's wrong?"

He kept his eyes turned away. "I...it happened too fast. I wanted to...to make _you_ feel good."

He looked so forlorn it broke my heart. I took his face in my hands and made him look at me. "It's okay. You've never made love before, right?"

He nodded.

"Then it's normal. But you know," I lowered one hand, "the great thing I noticed about Transgenics, it doesn't take long for you to...bounce back." My hand stroked his member; it stiffened almost instantly. "See?" I grinned.

Joshua's breathing was already getting ragged. I let go of him and took both his hands in mine, leading him towards the bed. He sat down on the edge and helped me take off my jeans and underwear, leaving me as naked as him. Without hesitation, and much to my surprise, he ran his fingers between the folds of my womanhood until he found my clitoris. I gasped at his touch, cried out when he leaned in to replace his fingers with his tongue. His hands gripped my hips, keeping me in place. As if I'd ever want to move away. I tangled my fingers in his long hair while his tongue did things to me that before only happened in my fantasies. I was getting close. I pushed him away, even though I really, _really_ didn't want him to stop what he was doing. But what I wanted more was to come with him inside me.

"Lie down," my voice quavered.

He did so, wincing a little when the movement pulled at his stitches. I straddled him, kissing him eagerly. My hand snaked down and steadied his member as I lowered myself onto him. I grimaced; it was as tight a fit as I expected. I rocked my hips, slowly working him deeper into me. Joshua let out a sound like a whimper and I knew he was struggling to hold onto his control. Finally, he was completely inside me. My body soon adjusted to his size. There was no more discomfort, there was only a sense of rightness I never experienced with another man.

"Skye." Joshua ran his large hands over my body, his eyes gazing up at me in something like wonder. "Beautiful Skye."

"I love you, Joshua." I started to move and the friction made my eyes drift shut and my lips part. I lost all sense of time. There was only now, with Joshua. My voice rose in louder and louder cries the closer I got to my orgasm. I never realized I was a screamer; I'd never enjoyed sex enough to make this much noise. A distant part of me was grateful there were no other residents in this building. Pretty soon I was yowling like an alley cat. Then suddenly I came and my voice died in my throat. I was so overwhelmed by the pleasure I just threw my head back in a silent scream. I heard Joshua howl—literally howl like a wolf—as he reached his own climax. Then every muscle in my body relaxed and I fell limp against him. I managed to keep enough sense to avoid landing on the bandage covering his stitches. We lay there for a few minutes, panting and sweaty. Then our eyes met and we started giggling like kids.

"Oh, my god," I covered my blushing face with my hand, "I had no idea I'd get so loud."

"Thought I was tired _before_," Joshua grinned at me, stroking my hair. He was exhausted, but he looked much happier than he did earlier. "Don't think I'll have any nightmares now," he said.

"Me neither," I sighed. I rolled off him and snuggled against his side, my head resting in hollow of his shoulder. Joshua slowly ran his fingers up and down my spine.

"Stay here," Joshua whispered.

"That won't be a problem," I mumbled, my eyes shut, "I can barely move."

"I mean forever."

I opened my eyes and raised my head to look at him. "The others might not let me."

Joshua cupped the side of my face and started kissing me. "This is my home," kiss, "I love you," kiss, "And I want you to stay."

"Joshua..."

"Please stay."

A tear escaped and ran down my cheek. "I'll stay."

Joshua smiled, then gently pulled me down so my head was on his shoulder again. I closed my eyes, drifting off, safe in his powerful arms. It felt like home.

"What're you saying?"

The question made me realize I was muttering the prayer that was running through my head. "I'm thanking my ancestors," I explained, "The reason they ever existed was so I could live. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be here now. With you."

Things were quiet for a moment. Just as I was about to fall asleep I heard Joshua whisper, "Thank you, Father."

I smiled.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** That thing about piggybacking the cure onto the common cold wasn't my idea. I actually found out about it during the commentary track for "Freak Nation." It was something the writers had planned for Season 3, which of course never happened! Stupid cancellation. So, anyhoo, I thought it was such a cool idea I figured, why not use it here? :-)


	14. Bravery

**A/N:** Some fluffy adult stuff, followed by more plot. Happy reading!

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p>"<em>Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength; while loving someone deeply gives you courage." -Lao Tzu<em>

2016

In college I met a fellow student who was dying from cancer, a condition I never had to worry about. No matter how much her health deteriorated, she never lost her optimism. Even when she ended up wheelchair-bound, she kept coming to class, smiling at people she passed in the hall, talking to her friends about nothing important. I wondered how she could do that, how she could get through each day knowing she had so little time left.

We were friendly, but not close. A couple of shared classes were about all we really had in common. One day she didn't show and I knew her condition had gotten worse. For some reason I felt compelled to visit her in the hospital. I remember hearing her laugh as I was walking down the sterile hall to her room. There was already someone with her, a man I recalled seeing once or twice pushing her wheelchair around. As it turned out, he was her longtime boyfriend. He'd stayed tirelessly by her side all through her illness and even now, near the end, he was making her focus on the positive things. I watched as they reminisced about the good times they had together, talked about things they would have liked to do without any sense of bitterness that they no longer had the chance, and cracked little jokes when she needed to depress the button on the self-medicating machine for more morphine. There was sadness, but not enough to overwhelm them. I understood then where my classmate got her bravery, and where her boyfriend got his; they drew it from each other.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

I woke to someone licking my face. Fortunately, that someone was Joshua. I giggled and tried to shove him away, but he started nipping at my throat, growling playfully. His teeth left red marks on my skin.

"Stop it, bad dog!" I laughed.

Joshua pulled back so he could grin down at me. There were definitely worse things I could wake up to. I touched his cheek. "Guess you're not tired anymore."

He shook his head. "You?"

"Not so much." I glanced at my watch and saw we'd been asleep for about four hours. We really _were_ worn out! Afternoon was pushing into evening. I put my arms over my head and arched my back in a long, luxuriant stretch that Joshua watched with keen interest. "So, what d'you want to do now?" I asked with a teasing smile.

Joshua's grin widened and his hands started roaming all over my body, making me squirm.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you've done this before."

"I did," he quipped, "A few hours ago."

"You know what I mean!"

"What? 'Cause I know this?" His right hand reached down and touched me with way too much skill. I moaned. "Original Cindy gave me a book when I told her about you," Joshua said while his fingers drove me crazy, "Said if I'm gonna drive I should read the manual first."

I laughed at that analogy. "I oughta meet her sometime. She sounds like a character." I also liked the thoughtfulness behind the gesture; it said something about this woman that she didn't question the chances of Joshua having a girlfriend.

"I read the whole thing twice in one day," he murmured. His breathing was getting heavier as he watched me get more and more excited by his attentions. Finally, he rolled on top of me, supporting himself on his arms. He shifted his weight just long enough to reach down with one hand and guide himself into me.

"Care-careful," I stammered, almost dizzy with pleasure, "Don't pull out your stitches."

"I'm okay," he rocked his hips gently, "Never felt...better."

We took it slow this time, moving together, kissing and groaning, whispering silly nothings to each other. I traced the seam that ran from the tip of his nose to the cleft of his upper lip with my tongue. Joshua licked my jaw line and nuzzled the crook of my neck. I bit my lip to hold back the cries that wanted to get out, but Joshua kissed me, forcing my mouth open, and I started screaming into his mouth with my rising climax. Our bodies shuddered in release at the same time. As soon as it passed we rolled onto our sides, still joined for the moment.

I brushed the long hair out of Joshua's face and kissed his soft lips. His dog-like face was relaxed and happy, looking the same as I felt. I wished I had my camera with me to capture his expression.

Joshua's hand traveled down my arm until it encountered the bandage. I forgot it was even there. Worry flickered in his eyes. "Will you tell Joshua what happened now?"

I pursed my lips, then started unwinding the bandage. I peeled away the gauze pad, revealing the scabbed-over scratches that disfigured the symbol on my arm. Joshua's brow furrowed at the sight. "You did this?"

"Yeah," I said quietly, "After I found out you were shot."

His blue eyes turned sad. "You shouldn't hurt yourself, Skye."

"I wasn't in my right mind," I tried to explain, "I thought...I thought you were dead." My throat tightened in remembered anguish.

Joshua placed a tender kiss on my arm. "Joshua's still alive. I'm not going anywhere."

"You better not," I said in a mock-threatening voice, "or I'm gonna have to come after you."

The corners of his mouth turned up. He stroked the side of my face. "Same goes for you."

Joshua's place included a bathroom with a working shower. I couldn't help but think that when this was a manager's office, the employee's must have hated the boss's guts. Sadly, because of Joshua's stitches, we couldn't shower together. He had to make do with a washcloth at the sink. I snuck more than a few peeks through the shower curtain at him; he had an amazing body, plus my libido was raging, thanks to its earlier stimulation. I was about ready to jump out of the shower and attack him when we both heard the ring of Joshua's cellphone. He stepped out of the bathroom to answer it. A minute later, as I was drying off, he came back in and told me Max had called. She wanted us to come by the control center...if we were "available." We both giggled childishly at that.

It wasn't an order, but we both knew Max wouldn't have called if she didn't think this was important. So, with great reluctance, we got dressed and headed for Terminal City's HQ. We walked side by side, Joshua with his arm around my shoulders, me with an arm around his waist. I'd never believed in anything like an afterglow before now; I always thought it was romantic baloney. But as we made our way down TC's streets, I felt like my smile was a beacon, blinding anyone who dared to look directly at it. I was so elated I would've done cartwheels right there in public if it didn't require letting go of Joshua. From the look on his face, he felt the same way.

When we got to the control center everyone took one look at us and started elbowing each other and smirking none-too-subtly. Mole, a freshly lit cigar in his mouth, rolled his eyes and pretended to be disgusted, but I could see the twitch of a grin fighting to get out. Max's smile was warm with just a touch of maternalistic worry for Joshua's sake. She motioned us over to the circular table where everyone was gathered. I noticed not only were the regulars present, but Logan and Doctor Carr were there as well. Joshua and I said enthusiastic hellos to them, which they returned. Sitting on the table was something new; a medium-sized terrarium with a heat-lamp pointing at an angle inside. I peered through the glass walls and saw a fairly large snake, maybe five or six feet long, curled up under the lamp's warming rays. The pattern of the scales, the way the tail gradually turned from green and black to red and black, brought me up short. It looked like...but it couldn't be!

"Skye," Max waved a hand at the terrarium, "meet George, our source for the pathogen."

My arm fell away from Joshua's waist and I stepped closer to the table, gaping in disbelief. "One of the holy serpents," I rasped, stunned, "How did you get this?"

"About a year ago Sandeman's younger son, CJ, escaped from an insane asylum run by the Familiars during some kind of religious ceremony," Max explained, "He stole the snake and hid out with it here in Terminal City. He's the one who named it George. When the Familiars recaptured him, the snake got left behind."

"And you've been taking care of him ever since?"

Max smirked. "Well, Mole kinda took a shine to him."

I looked at the lizard-man, who scowled and said, "What?" in a challenging voice.

"This is incredible," I said, "You have no idea how closely they're guarded. I've only ever seen these serpents during the most sacred rites. Only members of the clergy are allowed to even touch them."

"So, this is a big deal, then," Alec said with his typical wryness.

I answered in all seriousness, "Having this serpent in your possession's an immediate death sentence by our laws."

He shrugged, "The Familiars want us dead anyway." He had a point.

Doctor Carr stepped forward, an empty syringe in his hand. "I need somebody to hold George for me," he smiled at me, "Care to do the honors?"

_I can't touch the serpent! I'm not a priestess!_ Even though I was no longer a believer, the old superstitions still held. But instead of giving in to them I took a deep breath and forced myself to reach into the terrarium and lift the serpent out. George's scales were cool against my skin. He slowly coiled himself around my arms, forked tongue flicking out to taste the air. Doctor Carr swabbed a patch of skin and gently inserted the needle into the serpent's body. "First time I ever drew blood from a snake," he remarked with some bemusement.

I noticed the faint concern in Mole's eyes and repressed a smile. "George is lucky," I said, "He's the first of his kind who has a chance at dying of old age."

"They always kill them during those ceremonies?" Logan asked.

I nodded. "Always. But the priestesses call it sacrifice, not killing."

The doctor withdrew the needle and I gratefully returned George to his terrarium. The serpent coiled up under the heat-lamp, none the worse for his experience.

"Okay," Carr said, moving towards Max with the syringe, "The instructions say I should inject you with the pathogen first, then the rhinovirus immediately after."

Max perched herself on a stool and rolled up her sleeve. Like before, the doctor swabbed a small area in the crook of her elbow and inserted the needle. Max didn't even wince. Carr depressed the plunger, slowly injecting the serpent's blood into her body. When it was done, he disposed of the empty syringe and got another one out of his black bag, this one already filled with a clear fluid. As he injected Max with it he said, "I picked the most highly contagious strain I could get my hands on. It's mild enough that most people won't bother to stay home sick from work, which is good for us since they'll wind up infecting their coworkers."

He finished and applied a band-aid to Max's arm. She rolled her sleeve back down. "How long till we know it worked?"

"Well, symptoms normally don't show until the virus has had a couple of days to incubate. But in this case, with your genetic enhancements, there's really no way to know for su-"

Max interrupted him with a violent sneeze to the face. I actually saw a fine mist spray over the poor guy. The room erupted in loud _Ohhh_s and even a few laughs. Max clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She looked positively mortified. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

Doctor Carr grimaced, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, and wiped his face. "It's okay," he said, not all that convincing, "That's what we wanted to happen."

"So, you're infected now?" Luke asked.

"I'd say that's a strong possibility."

"Damn. That was quick!"

Max started breathing hard, waving her hands like she was trying to shoo away a fly. "I feel another one coming!"

The doctor coaxed Logan over with an after-you sweep of his arm. Logan positioned himself in front of his girlfriend, took off his glasses, and braced himself. "Okay. Hit me."

_"Achoo!"_

Alec chuckled, "That's awesome."

* * *

><p>Thanks to Logan's connections with the Eyes Only network of informants, there was no shortage of volunteer Ordinaries to act as carriers. They showed up by the dozens over the next few days so that Max—and later Logan when his symptoms started to show—could sneeze on them, then they quickly dispersed to spread the modified cold to others according to Sandeman's instructions. Some went to crowded places: the farmers market, nightclubs, sector crossings. Some went to bus stations and traveled to other cities, infecting fellow passengers along the way. Some went to the airport and booked international flights so that the virus could reach the rest of the world. It spread like wildfire; a worldwide epidemic of runny noses and explosive sneezes, making everyone irritable and putting grossness at an all-time high. There were even a few blurbs about this persistent cold on the news. One news anchor actually sneezed on the air while talking about it.<p>

So transmitting the virus was a success, but did it do what it was supposed to do? Were Ordinaries now immune to the pathogen? There was only one way to be sure.

I had a feeling Logan and Max fought the entire night before. But as Logan put it, he wasn't about to ask someone to take a risk he wasn't willing to do himself. Once again we were all gathered in the control center, Logan stoically perched on a stool. Doctor Carr drew another measure of blood from George and prepared to inject it into Logan's arm. He hesitated. "You're sure you want to do this?" he asked, deeply concerned.

Logan nodded. "We need to know for sure."

The doctor sighed and slid the needle into his skin. Max took Logan's hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. Her fear practically radiated from her. If Sandeman's work failed, if we somehow got it wrong, she would end up losing him by day's end.

"How long till we know?" she asked, looking at me.

I shrugged uncertainly. "Symptoms tend to show in the first couple of hours after exposure," I said, "At least, that's what I've heard."

Logan sighed, "Guess we could put on a movie."

It almost felt as if we were standing vigil. Joshua and I excused ourselves after about twenty strained minutes passed and decided to take a walk. Hand in hand we strode along the streets of Terminal City. It all looked so familiar to me now, like I'd been here for years instead of less than a month.

"What'll you write for your last article?" Joshua asked out of the blue.

Surprised, I gave a little laugh, "Y'know, I'm not sure. Didn't really give it much thought."

He put his arm around me and hugged me close to his side. "If you stay here, people will want to know why you don't get sick like Ordinaries."

His words chilled me; yet another thing I hadn't thought about. I mentally kicked myself for overlooking something so important. I couldn't go around telling people I was a member of a selectively bred cult. If they believed me, there would be the same panics and violence the Transgenics went through when the Ordinaries found out about them. I might've been disloyal to the Conclave, but I didn't want to put the rest of the Familiars at risk, the ones who were just everyday people with jobs and families.

I looked around at the people we passed by, specifically the X4's and X5's. They were all about the same age as me. I smiled as a crazy idea occurred to me. "I think I know what my last article's gonna be about."

Joshua smiled as if he already knew what my idea was, and maybe he did. He was very perceptive at times.

"You scared of what Conclave will do when they find out how you helped us?"

I leaned my head against his shoulder. "If it'd been just me, if I was still on my own, I wouldn't have been able to go through with it in the first place. I wouldn't have even _thought_ about it. My whole life I was taught that the Conclave was all-powerful, all-knowing. Defying them was like defying God. But having you with me, loving me as much as I love you, I feel brave enough to do anything."

Joshua kissed the top of my head and my heart swelled like it always did. I put my arms around his waist and snuggled even closer to him. We walked for the next hour or so, eventually circling back to HQ. We entered the control center to find Logan relaxing in a sofa with Max curled up beside him, not a trace of illness showing.


	15. Reason

**A/N:** Another shorty.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p><em>Human reason is beautiful and invincible.<em>

_No bars, no barbed wire, no pulping of books,_

_No sentence of banishment can prevail against it._

_It establishes the universal ideas in language,_

_And guides our hand so we write Truth and Justice_

_With capital letters, lie and oppression with small._

_It puts what should be above things as they are,_

_Is an enemy of despair and a friend of hope._

_-"Incantation" by Czeslaw Milosz_

2011

In History class we spent a week learning about men and women who spent their lives—and sometimes lost them—trying to change the way things were when they knew there could be something better. People like Martin Luther and Martin Luther King, Jr., Harvey Milk and Susan B. Anthony, Gandhi and Abraham Lincoln. Their names are remembered because they refused to accept the world's flaws just because they'd "always" been that way. Most of them didn't start out looking to change the world; they just stopped blindly following one day and started thinking, started questioning, and imagining "what if." It made me wonder about the ones who never made it into the history books. The average people who decided to do something against convention, to live in the "wrong" neighborhood, to marry the "wrong" person, to go to the "wrong" church or temple or hang out with the "wrong" kinds of people, even if it meant being disowned by their families and shunned by their friends and neighbors. What could have motivated them to choose the harder path in life?

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

When Nathan Barnett was happy, he got loud. When I called him he was _very_ happy. Even with the volume dialed all the way down, I still had to hold my cellphone away from my ear.

_"Your series is golden!"_ he declared, _"Sales went up almost forty percent this last issue, plus we're getting rave reviews over that insert you did on that dog-boy."_

"His name's Joshua," I said, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice. Nate remained oblivious.

_"Only one issue left, Skye. I don't have to tell you it better end on a high note."_

I was about to answer when an explosive noise made me flinch away from the phone for a second.

_"Sorry,"_ Nate sniffed, _"Been fighting this damned cold for days."_

I smirked. "I think you're gonna like what I've got in store. I'm doing a piece on a Transgenic who recently decided to stop passing herself off as Ordinary and move into Terminal City to be with her own kind."

_"Sounds good. Sounds good."_ I imagined him nodding in time to the words, a personal habit of his I always found mildly annoying.

"Yeah, and here's the kicker," I paused, partly for dramatic effect, partly to gather myself, "It's me."

A long silence. I counted to six before Nate spoke again. _"You're shitting me."_

"No," I said, crossing my fingers, "I'm not."

_"That's... So all this time... But I had to talk you into taking this assignment!"_

"Well, that's why. I've been pretending to be Ordinary, being around other Transgenics meant risking exposure. But now that I've spent time around them, I realize I'm more comfortable here in TC than I ever was anywhere else. And I'm tired of living a lie." There was enough truth in those statements for my sincerity to come across.

Nate mulled it over. _"So, you're not coming back when this is over."_

"No," I replied, "And by the way, I'm sending you a letter of resignation."

_"Yeah,"_ Nate sighed, _"I guessed as much."_ He took the news better than I expected.

"So...you're not mad?"

_"Well, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed,"_ he groused, _"You're one of our top writers, for Christ's sake. Especially now!"_

"I can still work with you in a long-distance freelance basis," I offered, "Since I'll be living in Terminal City, you'd be the first to know of any new developments here."

That seemed to mollify him a bit. _"On the plus side, this little revelation of yours is bound to be a huge hit with the readers. Might even increase readership by another five percent."_

I smiled. "Thanks for understanding."

_"If things don't work out, you'll always have a job here, you know that."_

"I know. 'Bye, Nate. I'll be sending you an update soon."

_"So long, Skye. Been nice working with you."_

I ended the call and set the phone aside. I was sitting in the easy chair by the bookshelves. I saw Joshua standing in the doorway. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"Not too bad," I said.

He walked over, held out his hand. "Rhett's ready for you."

I nodded, took his hand, and stood up. We left the apartment and went down to Oak Street, which was almost exclusively an X5 neighborhood. There we met up with Rhett, a handsome (of course) man with dark brown eyes and spiky hair dyed an unnatural platinum blonde. He wore a black tank top and just about every bit of exposed skin was covered in tattoos; his ears, eyebrows, nose, and lower lip sported multiple piercings. After Manticore was destroyed Rhett discovered an affinity for body art, so much so that he opened two parlors of his very own—one in TC, one outside—and he catered to all types, Transgenic and Ordinary. I was his first Familiar client.

A few minutes after he escorted us into his place, I lay face-down on a reclining chair, my hair tied up in a bun to leave my neck exposed. The tattoo needle buzzed like an angry wasp, its sting every bit as painful.

Joshua's sideways face lowered into my view. "Almost done," he said, smiling in reassurance.

"I sure hope so," I grunted, wondering how anyone could willingly put themselves through this when they didn't have to. It hurt like hell.

Rhett uttered an ironic snort, "Never thought I'd be putting one of _these_ on somebody." He traced the final line. "There. It's done."

I groaned in relief and sat up. Rhett handed me a mirror, then held up a second mirror behind my head so I could admire his handiwork. There on the back of my neck, the skin around it red and tender, was a barcode. "Looks just like everyone else's," I remarked.

"What if it got scanned?" Joshua asked, "Who's number would it say?"

Rhett shrugged, "Got me. I just made a random pattern. Probably just come out as gibberish."

"Doesn't matter," I said, "Manticore's records were destroyed. There's no point in anyone checking. People tend to take things at face value, anyway, and this is definitely convincing enough to get them to believe I'm one of you."

I settled up with Rhett, thanked him, then Joshua and I left. I wore my hair loose to hide the bandage on the back of my neck.

"No going back now," Joshua said.

I linked my arm with his. "Why would I want to?"

* * *

><p>The day after my last article for <em>Modern Events<em> was published, my cellphone rang early in the morning, waking me from a nice dream. Joshua snored away beside me, unaffected by the noise. I picked up the phone from the nightstand and stared blearily at the caller ID. Unknown; the sight of that single word sent a chill through me. Suddenly wide awake, I sat up, my thumb hovering over the send button. I debated with myself for two more rings before I pressed the button, barely preventing the call from going to my voicemail. I brought the phone to my ear. "Hello?"

_"You wish to live with the abominations,"_ an unfamiliar man's voice hissed, _"Then you can die with them. Soon."_

The click of the receiver on the other end hanging up had the same sense of finality as the trapdoor releasing under the gallows. I replaced my cell on the night table and curled up in the bed, grabbing Joshua's arm behind me and draping it over me like a security blanket. He mumbled in his sleep and hugged me closer to him. I felt a churning in my stomach and knew it was fear. The mysterious phone call, while hardly a surprise, left me shaken. I couldn't go back to sleep. I fidgeted and squirmed until Joshua finally woke up.

"What's wrong?"

I considered lying, but couldn't stand the idea of bottling all this anxiety up. "Someone from the Conclave called."

Joshua rubbed my shoulder. "What'd they say?"

"Pretty much what I expected." I found myself fighting tears. "I'm scared. I feel like I'm facing their anger on my own."

"Not on your own," he tightened his hold on me, "Joshua's with you. Max and Alec and Mole and Luke and Dix...all of us with you. We'll keep you safe."

"I know. That's not why I'm scared," I struggled to explain, "No matter how much I felt like an outsider, I was still a Familiar. I could turn to any other Familiar and know we were all part of the same thing. The same...tribe, I suppose. Now I've cut my ties with them and I'm adrift. I feel like I'm not part of anything anymore. I'm on my own for the first time in my life and I'm scared."

Joshua didn't say anything, didn't try to reassure me or downplay my feelings. He just held on to me and let me be frightened. It was what I needed.

"Joshua," I whispered a few minutes later, "I don't want you thinking I'm having doubts about this. I'm not."

"I know," I could hear the smile in his voice, "Felt the same when I left Father's house and came here. Max didn't want me to go, but I couldn't hide anymore. I needed to be with others, somewhere I could belong."

"But you were still afraid," I said, understanding.

Joshua kissed my shoulder. "Still afraid. But not for long. Now I'm happier. We're both happier."

"Yes." I turned over until I faced him. In the dim early morning light coming through the windows, his features were gray, details blurred, even though there was only a couple of inches distance between us. I leaned closer until the tips of our noses touched. "I'm happier."


	16. Battlefield

**A/N:** Thula from the episode "Freak Nation" makes an appearance in this chapter.

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p><em>Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds,<em>

_In ranks and squadrons and right form of war,_

_Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol._

_-"Julius Caesar" by William Shakespeare_

2020

"One day soon," the priestess declared during the first ceremonial gathering held after Manticore was destroyed and the Transgenics escaped, "the Coming will arrive. Those who are not destined to survive will fall while we, the strong, shall rise up. We will claim the world that is rightfully ours from the mongrel outsiders and we will strike down the Transgenic abominations. Their unholy existence mocks the generations of sacrifice our ancestors made so that we could exist. It is _we_ who have earned the right to inherit this world. And no unnatural creation of science will be allowed to take any part of it from us."

To be honest, I hadn't paid that much attention to what she said. It sounded pretty much like the same kind of rhetoric I'd heard all my life—all bluster and no substance. I never even considered that the Conclave might have had a plan.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

For as long as Familiars have existed, we've integrated ourselves into whatever society we lived in all around the world. Most, as I said before, were just people with normal jobs and average lives. But the Conclave ensured there were plenty of us in key positions both in government and military. Senator McKinley, for example, was a high-ranking Conclave member who also held one of the most powerful positions in the United States government. But there were also governors, cabinet members, law enforcement officials, generals and admirals. There were soldiers of every rank and position whose first allegiance was to the Conclave, which meant the Conclave had access to the most sophisticated weaponry in the world.

Their plan was so well organized, it was set in motion at the exact same time all over the planet. By the time anyone figured out what was happening, it was too late to stop them.

I wasn't in Terminal City that day. I was across the street with Max and Logan at the diner, which showed how much they'd come to trust me. For once we weren't talking about anything important, just hanging out, enjoying some time away from responsibility. Then Gem, the X5 who ran the place, shouted something and pointed at the window. We all looked, Transgenic and Ordinary alike, and saw something none of us expected...though we should have.

A swarm of military aircraft flew over Seattle. Some of them were bombers. Their lower hatches opened and dropped their payload over the most heavily populated areas. The bombs exploded before they ever reached the ground, showering debris and clouds of smoky vapor over wide areas of the city.

I don't remember getting up and moving over to the window. My hands were pressed against the cool glass and I stared out in shock. "It's them," I rasped, so quiet only Max and Logan heard me—which was probably for the best, "The Familiars. They're releasing the pathogen."

"It won't do them any good," Logan reminded me, "We're all immune by now."

Then a small group of fighter jets broke off from the main formation and swooped towards us. Missiles streaked out from under their wings. Someone grabbed me from behind and threw me to the floor.

"Incoming!" somebody shouted.

There was a series of explosions that rocked the whole building. The windows shattered, showering us with glass. I heard people screaming in terror and confusion, Ordinary men and women who had no idea what was going on. I pulled myself up and peered through the glassless window. My heart froze at what I saw. A huge section of the wall was gone. I could see collapsed buildings, flames, and running figures through the gap. Overhead, the jets circled back for another barrage—only to have the lead plane blow apart and the rest hastily turn aside to avoid flying debris. My eyes darted around to see another formation of fighter jets speed in and engage the attackers. The Ordinaries had caught on that this was no drill and were taking out the Familiars. Soon the stolen jets were too busy defending themselves to continue their assault on TC.

But it wasn't over. I saw maybe half a dozen big transport helicopters hover over Terminal City while numerous figures rappelled down. I had no doubt that at least some of the Familiars being deployed were members of the warrior breeding line known as the Phalanx. The Conclave was determined to wipe out the Transgenics today, whatever the cost.

I heard running footsteps behind me and turned to see Max, Gem, and all the other X's heading for the door. I scrambled to my feet to follow them only to be brought up short by Logan's hand on my arm.

"You're not a trained soldier like they are," he said firmly, "You'll only be risking yourself and anyone who tries to help you."

I threw his arm off and kept going, ignoring his yells. Joshua was on the first floor delivering some of his paintings to be sold. I knew he wouldn't stand around while his friends were heading into danger. And if he was going to fight, then so was I. I might not have been a soldier, but I still received hand-to-hand combat training as a kid, like all Familiars. I was faster and stronger than any Ordinary and determined to help protect my new home. I dashed across the street into a warzone. Joshua was nowhere in sight, but I saw plenty of other people I knew fighting back. Mole and a bunch of 'Nomalies were crouched behind some rubble having a shootout with a squad of Familiars. A dozen X7's took on another group of invaders, their ultrasonic communication and hive-like mentality making them brutally efficient.

Then I saw a teen X6 named Dalton fighting desperately with a Familiar twice his size and I rushed in to help him. I didn't plan; I just let my childhood training take over. I leaped and landed on the Phalanx warrior's back, my hands grabbing his head and twisting savagely. I felt more than heard his neck snap and then I stumbled back as his body collapsed like a felled tree. I stared numbly at the man I killed; the first life I ever took.

Dalton didn't hesitate. He quickly stripped the dead soldier of weapons and ammunition, tossed me a handgun that I almost dropped, and ordered me to follow him. His crisp manner didn't match his youthful teen looks. But this was what he was bred for, I reminded myself. I followed.

We positioned ourselves behind a slab of concrete that was once part of a building, close enough to see Mole and his companions were in danger of being overrun.

"They've got body armor," Dalton said, aiming his rifle at the nearest soldiers, "So that handgun of yours won't do much good. Aim for the legs."

"Okay." I steadied the weapon with both hands and took aim. While I didn't have much experience with guns, I hoped my Familiar reflexes and coordination would make up for it.

"Now," Dalton barked and we started shooting. I saw the soldier I was aiming at fall down, blood spraying from his knee. While I knew he wouldn't feel any physical pain, the damage to his leg would hamper him significantly.

Some of the closer soldiers turned and fired back at us, but with enemies on two sides—me and Dalton, plus Mole's people—the invaders soon decided a retreat was in their best interest. The second we thought it was safe enough, Dalton and I broke cover and hurried to join the others.

"Is Joshua with you?" were the first words I blurted.

Mole shook his head. The cigar stub in his mouth was pretty much chewed through. He spat out the soggy mess and glared at me. "Did you have any clue this was gonna happen?"

I shook my head. "I had no idea! Don't you think I would've said something?"

Before Mole could answer somebody screamed, "Hit the dirt!" We all dove to the ground just as a small rocket soared over our heads and hit the already damaged building behind us.

"Great," Mole grumbled, "They got a rocket launcher."

Another, more distant explosion drew everyone's attention to a rising cloud some distance away. "Oh, god," a woman with ape-like features groaned, "That's where the Nursery is."

Pretty much as soon as the Transgenics were settled in TC, the females started going into heat and having babies. And being the paranoid genetically engineered soldiers they were, they quickly established a safe haven for their youngsters. Located in the center of Terminal City, the Nursery was the most heavily protected building in the entire community, more like a fortress than a daycare. The second they knew they were under attack, all the mothers and pregnant females would have headed there. And now it looked like some of the Phalanx might have reached them.

Mole started issuing orders in a rapid-fire code I couldn't hope to understand. Judging from everyone else's nods, though, they understood just fine. Mole then turned to me and jabbed a warning finger in my face. "_You_ stay put till I tell ya it's safe to come out. This ain't the time for stupid heroics, got it?"

I nodded, not about to argue. While the others moved out I crouched behind a pile of fallen bricks and watched as they engaged the heavily armed Familiars. As I watched the battle the journalist in me wished I'd thought to bring my camera. It was over in minutes, the Transgenics the victors, though a couple of bodies on the ground showed it wasn't without cost. They gathered up as many weapons as they could from the fallen soldiers—including the rocket launcher—and started running toward the Nursery. Mole beckoned as he jogged past and I scrambled out of hiding to join them.

"Stick close to me," the lizard-man ordered, "And try not to get in the way."

I was way too scared to be insulted by his tone. We dodged through firefights and falling debris. Far overhead the planes of both Familiars and Ordinaries continued to shoot each other down, raining metal and flame down on our heads and making things even more treacherous. More than a few shootouts held us up and I got to use my gun a couple of times. I don't know that I ever hit anything, but at least I didn't feel totally useless. Finally, we reached the fortress-like building that was the Nursery.

It was probably the worst target the Phalanx could have chosen to attack. The Transgenics fought twice as fiercely here than anywhere else in TC, and with good reason. Buildings could be replaced, but their children couldn't. I saw Dix's girlfriend, Katya, wielding a sniper rifle from one of the second story windows. Katya was a feline 'Nomaly who last week announced she was six weeks pregnant. I watched as she shot down a Familiar who was about to fling a grenade at the Nursery. The explosive rolled out of his limp hand and wound up taking out a couple of his fellow soldiers instead.

Mole told me to take cover, then bellowed the order to attack. He and his mixed group of Transgenics stormed in to fight the Phalanx soldiers. From the opposite side, I saw Max leading another group in a second attack. Joshua was with her. I almost jumped up and ran to him, but held on to enough sense to know I would only distract him and probably get him killed if I did that. So I stayed where I was and hoped and prayed he would make it out of this alive. I watched him move with incredible speed for someone his size and take on a muscle-bound Phalanx warrior before the latter had time to use his weapon. Joshua lifted the man over his head and threw him at some approaching soldiers, knocking them all down like bowling pins. Then a plume of smoke wafted over the scene and blocked him from my sight. I shifted in my hiding place, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, when some nameless instinct made me freeze. Slowly, I turned to discover a Familiar woman towering over me, her weapon pointed straight at my head. Wisps of bright red hair peeked out from under her helmet. She smirked at me in brutal arrogance.

"Skye Danziger," she sneered, "What does it feel like to betray your own kind?"

"You're not my kind," I retorted, amazed by how calm I sounded.

"You're right," she said, finger tightening on the trigger, "I'm better."

"It doesn't matter if you kill me," I told her, "You're too late. The Conclave's already lost."

"That's where you're wrong, Sister Danziger. The Coming is at hand. The world belongs to us now."

"Like hell it does!"

Both of us turned to find Max standing a short distance away glaring daggers at the Phalanx woman. "You again," she snarled, "Didn't you get enough of me kicking your ass last time?"

The warrior woman actually looked thrilled to see her. She lowered her gun and swiveled her body to face the Transgenic. "Four five t-" A blur of motion and a fist to the face interrupted her. The woman staggered back, her helmet falling off and her long red hair spilling out. She spat a mouthful of blood onto the street and smirked, eager for this confrontation.

I watched the two women circle each other, both created as ultimate warriors. One the product of generations of selective breeding, the other the result of the most advanced science. I blinked and in that instant they went from sizing each other up to brutally fighting. Watching them was like seeing two ancient gods battling for supremacy. All I could do was stay out of their way. Max had speed and agility on her side, while the Phalanx soldier possessed the brute strength and resiliency. Both seemed evenly matched for stamina. I honestly couldn't say for sure who would have won. I never got the chance to find out.

A loud rumble overhead drowned out the sounds of battle, drawing everyone's attention—Familiar and Transgenic alike—to the sky. Hovering above us were dozens of helicopters, some obviously military, others black and bearing the insignia of Seattle's police force. The one directly over us was one of those police copters. A voice bellowed out from its loudspeaker, _"This is the Seattle PD! You are completely surrounded! Those of you in military uniform are ordered to throw down your weapons and surrender to us immediately! You are engaged in an unsanctioned attack against United States civilians! Stand down or you will be fired upon!"_

A look of utter confusion crossed the red-haired woman's face, an expression that must have been shared by every Familiar invading Terminal City. The pathogen should have taken affect almost instantly. The Ordinaries should have been sick, dying, yet here they were coming to our rescue. It was-

"Impossible," the woman croaked.

"I told you," I said, facing her calmly, "You're too late. Sandeman's plan worked. They're all immune now."

The Phalanx soldier's face twisted with hatred. _"Traitor!"_ she shrieked, barreling towards me. Max rushed to intercept her, but not before I raised the gun in my hand and fired. It was more dumb luck than anything that my last bullet wound up going right between the redhead's eyes. She landed in a graceless heap at my feet, her long hair covering her lifeless face. I stared down at her, my arm with the smoking gun in my grip still extended.

"Nice shot," Max remarked. She took the gun from me and pushed my arm down to my side. "You okay?"

I looked at her numbly, then my legs gave out and Max caught me before I hit the ground.

* * *

><p>Most of the Familiars surrendered once they realized the Conclave's plan had failed. Some of the more fanatical ones kept fighting and were mowed down by the police and military copters. Some took their own lives, either because they couldn't bear the realization that the Coming would never happen, or because they preferred death over being taken prisoner.<p>

The Transgenics' casualties were surprisingly low. Mostly moderate wounds, about ten or so severe enough to require hospitalization, and four fatalities, none of whom I knew that well.

Joshua found me sitting outside the building that was being used as a makeshift hospital. I knew I was in shock; I'd barely moved since Max sat me down and left to get things organized with the recovery effort. I'm not sure how much time passed before a broad shadow loomed over me. I didn't look up, not even when the figure knelt down and touched me knee.

"Skye? Were you hurt?"

I didn't answer. A hand cupped my chin and forced me to look up into a pair of concerned blue eyes. Joshua hadn't gotten through the day unscathed. His left hand was bandaged and his face was mottled with bruises and scrapes. He gently brushed my hair out of my face with his uninjured hand. "You okay, Skye?"

I held up my hands for him to see. They trembled like they had Parkinsons. "They won't stop shaking," I said, not sure why it seemed so important in the face of everything else.

Joshua took my hands in his, stilling them with his warm grip and tenderly kissing my fingertips. "It's alright."

I felt the numbness receding and the horrible guilt flooding in. "I...I killed two people. They were _my_ people." Then the tears came and I couldn't say anything more.

Joshua took me in his arms and rocked me. He didn't try to tell me everything was alright, that it wasn't my fault, that I did what I had to do. He just held me. I cried until I was too exhausted to move, then Joshua lifted me in his powerful arms and carried me away. I rested my head against his shoulder and let myself fall asleep before I found out where he was taking me. I didn't care, so long as it was away from all this wreckage that was once a thriving town. Even though we'd won, none of this felt like a victory, least of all to me. Two lives ended by my hand. Justified or not, I knew the guilt would stay with me for the rest of my life.


	17. Heroism

**A/N:** Some dialog at the beginning was borrowed from the episode "Freak Nation."

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p><em>Ah the company of the birds<em>

_I loved and cherished on earth_

_Now, freed of flesh we fly_

_Together, a flock of beating wings,_

_I am as light, as feathery,_

_As gone from gravity we soar_

_In endless circles._

_-"The Company of the Birds" by Sasha Moorsom_

2021

Like many people across the nation, my eyes were glued to my television set. A group of Transgenics had inexplicably left the relative safety of Terminal City. When confronted by police, they holed up in a small courier business called Jam Pony and took everyone inside hostage. Nothing of what might have been going on inside the nondescript brick building could be seen by any of the reporters outside, but that didn't stop them from covering the incident. When the cops refused to offer any comments or answer questions, the reporters satisfied themselves with the ravings of random bystanders, of which there was no shortage.

_"The economy's bad enough,"_ a man with greasy black hair snarled into the microphone, _"Do you want 'em taking your job? You want 'em livin' next door, spittin' out their mutant half-breed kids?"_

I wondered exactly how they could take anyone's job since they were all holed up in a toxic wasteland.

Another man appeared on the screen, angrier than the first. _"These mutant freaks are an affront to nature. They don't deserve to live. Where's the accountability? Who's taking care of this? Nobody!"_ the longer he talked, the more impassioned he became, like his emotions were building up pressure like steam in a geyser, _"These freaks are running rampant! They're get to do whatever they want. They get protection or something? These things aren't natural. They shouldn't be alive. They don't deserve to live. They should be lined up with the scientists and shot like the bunch of rabid dogs they are. These..._freakoids_ smashed up my truck! They're taking bread out of MY MOUTH-"_

Were the Transgenics watching this? Did those hateful words make their stomachs churn like they did mine? Those phrases so similar to the things my classmates hissed to me in the halls of our school, quiet enough that the teachers could pretend not to hear. Freak...weakling...don't deserve to be one of the Familiars...

_"I say kill the freaks,"_ the first man shouted, _"or send 'em back to whatever cesspool they came from!"_ And behind him a crowd of men just as angry as him bellowed and waved their fists.

I picked up the remote and shut the TV off.

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

I woke from an uneasy doze to find myself still being carried by Joshua. We'd left the worst of the wreckage behind and were going down a street I recognized as one leading to our home. I forced myself to turn my head and look, afraid of what I might see. But the colorfully painted building still stood, only a couple of windowpanes shattered. The building across the street wasn't so lucky. There was only a huge pile of rubble and jutting metal beams left. Thank god no one was living there at the time.

A horrible thought came to me. "Mike! The homeless people!" I grabbed fistfuls of Joshua's shirt and shook him as if I needed to knock sense into him. As if he was the one panicking instead of me.

"They're okay, Skye," Joshua soothed, barely even affected by my frantic actions. The man was like a brick wall, solid and reassuring. "When the missiles hit they hid in basement. They're all fine," he grinned, "Even Bongo."

Relief washed over me. What happened today was awful enough, but the homeless Ordinaries were innocent bystanders who had nothing to do with the Conclave's blood feud against the Transgenics.

Still clutching his shirt, I leaned my head against Joshua's shoulder. "Who didn't make it?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

Joshua's expression turned somber and, in a voice thick with sorrow, he told me the names of the four who died:

Rikki, an X6 girl who recently turned fifteen. I remembered that she had a crush on Alec. She'd glance furtively at him whenever he was close by and blushed adorably the one time he noticed and winked at her.

Harlan, a 'Nomaly with only one eye, the other obscured behind tumor-like growths that also twisted his face into a permanent grimace, at least until he smiled and then his whole face transformed into something much kinder. He used to organize the books at Applewood, earning him the honorary title of Head Librarian.

Leif, the X7 who played the trumpet at Joe's funeral.

Barb, a desert acclimated soldier like Mole. She had a fondness for pink camouflage patterned clothes. And she had a two month old daughter with a reptilian 'Nomaly named Donnybrook.

I felt the weight of each of those deaths like a loss in the family, even though I barely knew any of them when they were alive. And the worst part was I couldn't think of a way any of this could have been prevented. No one could have guessed the Conclave's plan, where or when or how they'd strike; not even me, the one who was supposed to know them best.

Joshua carried me inside, even though I told him I was okay to walk. We went up the stairs and into our apartment. A couple of things were knocked over, but nothing broken or damaged. Joshua went to the bed and sat on the edge, setting me down on his lap and shifting his arms around my waist. He'd kept it together the whole time since the attack ended, now his stoicism finally left him. He lowered his head until his long hair obscured his face. A few seconds later I heard small sounds, almost like the stifled baying of a hound, and I realized this was how the dog-man sobbed. I gently brushed his hair aside and kissed his cheek, then pulled his head down until it rested against my shoulder. Our bodies rocked from side to side as we comforted each other.

* * *

><p>We mourned our dead. Their bodies were added to the tiny but growing cemetery. Four coffins all in a row. It wasn't like the funeral held for Joe. There was nothing military in everyone's bearing. People wept and held each other. Donnybrook stood with his daughter, Jewel, in his arms, the X7s clustered around him. The ones who'd suffered the greatest losses. Donny lost a wife, Jewel lost a mother, and the group-minded X7s lost a part of themselves. Looking at them, I hated what I was for the first time in my life. I felt the guilt as if I'd been the one to murder their loved ones. I wanted to throw myself at their feet and tell them how sorry I was. But doing that would only be self-indulgent. They deserved to mourn in peace.<p>

Across from where Joshua and I stood I saw Max, surrounded by her trusted friends and yet standing alone. I knew from the pain in her dark eyes just what she was thinking; when would it end? How many more people would she have to bury?

The sky was miraculously clear, the sun so bright we squinted through our tears. A flock of pigeons suddenly wheeled overhead. The sunlight turned their normally drab feathers into gleaming blues and purples, shimmering like metal. Jewel—as alert and rapidly developed as any Transgenic baby—raised her chubby scaled arms towards the birds and let out a squawk of excitement, and despite everyone's sadness, the sight brought muted smiles to almost everyone's faces.

The burials were quiet affairs. Afterwards, we all gathered in the square that normally held TC's marketplace and today served as the setting for a massive outdoor wake. Those who didn't want to grieve alone came to share the burden with everyone else. Joshua and I went, even though I half expected people to treat me coolly at best. I was still a Familiar, after all, and Familiars weren't too popular here, especially now. But again the Transgenics surprised me. The worst I got was the cold shoulder from a few people. The rest treated me no different than before. Not even the people I once thought of as my own kind could make the same claim.

A little while later I noticed Mole making a quiet exit and my curiosity got the better of me. I left Joshua talking with Luke and Dix and followed the lizard-man, keeping what I thought was enough distance between us to go unnoticed. He led me down a twisting, narrow street that was hardly used by anyone until we reached an area of cracked pavement that used to be a small parking lot. Mole walked to a pile of rubble and stopped, staring down with his hands in his pockets. After a while I realized it wasn't just some pile of broken concrete he was looking at; it was a cairn.

I dared to step closer. Mole didn't react, not even when I ended up beside him.

"Is this where you buried Cat?" I asked quietly.

He nodded, sighed, "Yeah."

"I'm sorry," I said, looking down at the unmarked grave, "For all of this."

"It's nothing new," he mumbled, "Humans think we don't deserve to live. They're always gonna think that."

"The Conclave thinks no one deserves to live except Familiars. Funny how the ones who think they have the most right to life are the ones who wind up taking the most lives. Then the next thing they know, they're the ones labeled monsters and put in front of the firing squad."

"Think that's gonna happen now?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. But I do know that nothing's ever going to be the same for my people. They've spent their whole lives planning for a destiny that'll never happen."

Mole looked at me. "You still think of 'em as your people?"

"They _are_ my people, whether I like it or not," I smiled ruefully, "Just like my mother will always be my mother, even though we haven't spoken in years."

"Why? What'd she do?"

"She tried to have me killed."

Mole chuckled dryly. "Yeah, that'd do it."

We turned and walked away from the grave without a word, walking side by side in comfortable silence. A few minutes later we saw the crowd we'd left behind earlier, still commiserating together without being aware of our absence.

"You still haven't told me why you're called Mole," I remarked out of the blue.

"Nope," he answered casually, "And I'm not gonna."

I smirked. "We'll see."

* * *

><p>The world was stunned by the fact that this act of terrorism organized by a still unknown enemy had spanned the entire globe. Men and women from every military branch and government were arrested, too arrogant in their certainty of success to bother covering their tracks, making their capture all too easy in the aftermath. None would explain why they tried to wipe out the earth's population; those who lived in countries with less scrupulous interrogation methods even went so far as to commit suicide to avoid betraying the secret existence of Familiars. Speculations ran wild, but no one really knew the truth of what happened. They probably never would.<p>

The control center was crammed with people gathered around the monitors and TV's, all tuned to the same news channel. I stood wedged between Max and Joshua, watching Senator McKinley being led away by federal agents, his overcoat draped over his wrists to hide the handcuffs we all knew he was wearing. His expression was stony, but I could see the rage boiling in his eyes.

The image switched to a well dressed, official-looking man standing behind a podium bristling with microphones. Camera flashes flickered across his face, which he duly ignored.

_"What we do know,"_ he said in that confident way politicians had that said they knew exactly what they were talking about (or if not, could fake it without breaking a sweat), _"is that the substance that was released over the world's population centers was a pathogen of unknown origin. One that epidemiologists believe should have been fatal to as much as ninety-eight percent of the human population. Worse than any plague in human history."_

This revelation caused an uproar among the gathered reporters. They finally quieted down enough for the man to answer the question they all wanted to know: why were they all still alive?

_"Random blood samples have been collected from a wide variety of the populous and all of them show that at some point we have all been exposed to a vaccine. Who created this vaccine and how they managed to distribute it worldwide without anyone's knowledge, we have no idea. All I can say is that these unknown persons have saved countless lives, and for that the world owes them a debt of gratitude."_

All eyes turned to Max, who smiled knowingly.

"D'you think Sandeman's watching this?" I whispered to Joshua.

He took my hand in his and squeezed. "I hope so. Father deserves to know he's a hero," he smiled down at me, "And so are you."

"Me?"

"Wouldn't have translated Father's message in time without your help."

I hadn't thought of it that way before. Seen from that light, my actions seemed less like a betrayal of my kind than an act of bravery. I could finally let myself be proud of what I did. How many people could say they helped save the world?

I stood on tiptoe and kissed Joshua's cheek. He grinned and put his arms around me, lifted me up to kiss me back. "My hero," he declared with all sincerity. This brief praise left me with a warm glow.


	18. Unbound

**A/N:** The End is here! And by that, I mean the end of this story. :-( It was fun while it lasted. In fact, I enjoyed writing it so much I just might have to write another story or two. Joshua isn't the only largely overlooked character from the series, after all. ;-)

Special thanks to **Donaroja, Night-Weaver369, nexus432, **and** Victoriam Speramus** for their reviews. Thanks, guys! :-D

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Dark Angel_ or any of that show's characters. They belong to James Cameron and Charles H. Eglee, geniuses both. No disrespect is intended to either of them in the writing of this fanfic.**

* * *

><p><em>To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite;<em>

_To forgive wrongs darker than death or night;_

_To defy Power, which seems omnipotent;_

_To love, and bear; to Hope till Hope creates_

_From its own wreck the thing it contemplates;_

_Neither to change, nor falter, nor repent_

_-"Prometheus Unbound" by Percy Bysshe Shelley_

2010

"I heard that your mother called again," Moorhead said, "Did you talk to her."

I looked at my favorite teacher and shook my head, then returned my attention to the book sitting open on the table in front of me. It was free-time and I was once again hiding out in the school's library.

Moorhead pulled out a chair and seated herself across from me. She rested her arms on the table and leaned in to bring her face level with mine. I bit my lip and reluctantly met her gaze.

"You can't avoid her for the rest of your life," she chided gently.

"No," I agreed, "Just the rest of hers."

"You need to forgive her, dear."

"Why?" I snapped, "She wanted to kill me." After years of blissful ignorance, followed by a few more of denial, I finally let myself see the truth about what happened that day when I was five and discovered both my defect and my gift.

"She didn't _want_ to kill you," Moorhead reasoned, calm as ever, "What happened that day was done out of love. She only wanted to spare you any suffering."

"She's ashamed of me," I mumbled, sulking, "Like everybody else."

Moorhead reached out and patted my hand. "_I_ am not ashamed of you, child. You are one of my brightest students. I've watched you overcome hardships your classmates will never have to face, day after day. I'm _proud_ of you."

I had to look away or risk letting her see the tears welling in my eyes. She withdrew her hand.

"If you can accomplish all that," she continued, "I believe you can find it in yourself to forgive your mother for doing what she thought was best. If not, you will be alienating the only family you have. Family is everything, Skye. They make us what we are."

"I know," I said, staring at a scab on my hand, the result of a nasty spill in the hall when a classmate surreptitiously stuck out a foot, "That's why I won't forgive her."

* * *

><p><span>2022<span>

There were times when Manticore's military discipline shone through in the Transgenics, and not just when they fought. Within hours after the failed attack they began clearing away the debris and rebuilding what could be salvaged. Everyone pitched in, including me. I worked side by side with X's and 'Nomalies over the next few days, picking up chunks of masonry and loading them into truck beds and wheelbarrows. Like all Familiars, I had greater strength and stamina than most other humans, but after I don't know how many hours of hard work my back and shoulders would get so sore they were almost numb, my hands would be covered in blisters even though I'd worn work gloves, and all I wanted to do at the end of the day was fall into a tub of lukewarm water and hibernate for a week. Joshua was a little better off than me, but he still ended up sweaty and grimy and exhausted. When night fell we'd stumble back to our apartment, leaning against each other so we wouldn't fall over (well, to be honest, I did most of the leaning).

Sadly, there was no bathtub, but thanks to the fact that Joshua's stitches were taken out, we could shower together. Most times we were too tired to do much except hold each other while the cool water sprayed over our heated skins. It still amazed me how comforting it was, just having someone to hold onto. After the shower we'd lie on the bed and take turns massaging the aches and knots out of each other's backs.

After the last day of cleanup, I lay face-down on the bed, my hair still damp from the shower. As had happened every night after receiving one of Joshua's amazingly thorough massages, I felt so relaxed I don't think I could've moved even if the place was on fire.

"Skye?"

"Hmm?" I grunted lazily.

"You awake?"

"Mm-hmm..." I heard Joshua's quiet chuckle and felt his lips against my bare shoulder. Neither one of us had bothered to get dressed after our shower. Too much work.

I mustered the energy to speak actual words. "Gimme a sec 'n' I'll take care of you."

"You don't have to," he said, "Joshua's not all that sore."

I recalled how stiffly he'd moved when we walked home. "Jus' a minute. Lemme work up some motivation." I forced my arms to push me up from the mattress and rose up to my knees with a rueful groan.

Joshua rubbed my arm. "You really don't-"

"Shut up and lie down," I smirked.

Joshua grinned and did what he was told. I picked up the bottle of mineral oil he'd used earlier and squeezed some into my hand, rubbing my palms together to get them nice and lubricated. Then I straddled him and got to work on his cramped muscles, starting at the small of his back and working my way up to his broad shoulders. Joshua hardly made a sound except for an occasional grunt when I worked on a particularly stubborn knot, followed by a relieved sigh when the muscle finally relaxed. Pretty soon he was as boneless as I was a few minutes ago.

"I love you," he mumbled.

I smiled. "I love you, too. Turn over."

It took him a moment to work up the energy, but he did it. Once he was on his back I straddled him again and started running my hands over his chest and down the washboard of his stomach. A slow smile spread across his dog-like face. His big hands ran up my thighs and slid over my back.

"I'm not that tired anymore," I said.

"Me neither." Joshua sat up, cupped my face in his hands, and kissed me. I moaned and slipped my arms around his neck. A little maneuvering and he was inside me. Joshua's strong hands helped me thrust against him. His mouth tasted the skin of my neck, my shoulders, my breasts. I kissed every part of him I could reach as well, then pulled his head toward me to meet his lips with mine.

"So beautiful, Skye," he whispered. I tried to say something back, but all that came out of me was a loud moan. I held him so tightly I thought our bodies might fuse together. Then I was swept up in a climax that left me trembling and breathless. I felt Joshua shudder and heard a groan that reverberated deep in his chest. Once it passed, we lay down, me on top of him, my head pillowed against his chest. My head rose and fell with his breathing, his strong heart pounded rhythmically in my ear. I whispered the same prayer I said every night, thanking my ancestors for giving me life, for letting me have this perfect moment with someone I loved.

* * *

><p>We were jarred awake the next morning by an insistent knocking at the door. Groggily, we threw on some clothes and Joshua stumbled over to the door to answer it. Luke hovered in the doorway, fidgeting anxiously. "What gives? We've been callin' your phone for the last fifteen minutes and you didn't answer."<p>

"We were asleep," Joshua answered in a tone of voice that said he'd very much like to get back to it, a sentiment I heartily shared.

"Oh. Right," Luke's shoulders twitched in an embarrassed shrug.

"What were you calling about?" I asked.

Luke immediately shifted his attention to me. "Somebody's at the gate. An older lady. Max says she's a Familiar she met before."

A feeling similar to dread chased away my drowsiness. "What does she want?"

"She says she wants to see you. Being pretty stubborn about it, too." Luke frowned, miffed.

Joshua gave me a worried look. "It might be a trick."

I shook my head. "Not if it's who I think it is. Using herself as bait for a trap isn't her style."

"You don't hafta see her, y'know," Luke said, "Just say the word and we'll have the guards send her packing."

"No," I sighed, "I have to face her sometime. Might as well get it over with now." I took a moment to brush my hair into something more presentable, then Joshua and I followed Luke out to the gate. Max, Alec, and Mole were already there, along with a dozen armed Transgenics, all of them staring coldly at the woman standing outside the locked gate.

My suspicion was right; the Familiar who came to confront me was Moorhead. She wasn't alone either. I could see a handful of sturdy Phalanx warriors gathered around the limo that must've brought them all here. The fact that Moorhead had them hanging back reassured me that she wasn't looking for a fight.

"Do you want us to go over there with you?" Max asked me.

"Thanks, but no," I replied, "I think I know why she's here. It's personal. Something between Familiars."

She didn't looked thrilled with my answer, but she wasn't surprised, either. "Okay. Just remember, we're here if you need us."

I nodded, turned to Joshua. He touched my face and gave me a reassuring smile. I leaned into his touch for a second before slowly backing away. Reluctantly, I turned and walked over to the gate. It stayed closed, which was fine with me. I thought it might be better to keep something between me and Moorhead, just in case I was wrong about her plan of action. As I closed the distance, I saw through the bars of the gate that Moorhead's eyes were red, her face blotchy from what must have been hours of crying. I came to a halt a few feet from her.

_"Fe'nos tol,"_ I said quietly.

"Do you have any idea what you've done," her voice was low and raw.

I stared at her, saddened. "I know I did the right thing."

"The right... You _arrogant_ girl!" she snarled, "You've destroyed us! Thousands of years, generations of sacrifice. Everything our ancestors struggled for to prepare us for the Coming. All for _nothing_." Tears coursed down her cheeks. She didn't look angry so much as deeply wounded. "This world was destined to be ours. Now we have nothing! No destiny, no purpose. How can our people ever hope to continue now?"

"They'll have to muddle through," I said simply, "Just like everyone else."

"You truly want to be like 'everyone else'?" she asked, nodding towards the people behind me, "Living with those abominations. Did you really think you could hide yourself away and not face the consequences of your betrayal?"

I stared at her, a woman I once thought of as a second mother. "No," I answered in a quiet voice, "I never thought that. I'm ready to face whatever judgment the Conclave's made."

Moorhead took a step closer, almost touching the bars that separated us. "The Conclave has declared you _anathema_. Do you understand?"

I swallowed, nodded. All Familiars were raised to believe this was a punishment even worse than death. My existence would be obliterated from my people's consciousness. I would not be spoken of or acknowledged, my name would be stricken from the lineage archives, and any photos or possessions I didn't already have with me would be destroyed. Even the pictures my mother still had in the family albums would be burned. She'd probably do it herself. I wasn't simply going to be shunned or thought of as dead; to be declared anathema was the same as never even being born. I would never again be able to speak to another Familiar. I would never have the chance to reconcile with my mother. That hurt, not because I _wanted_ her back in my life, but because I didn't have a choice anymore.

The cold anger faded from Moorhead's expression, leaving only sorrow and disappointment. "I loved you like a daughter," she whispered, "Every accomplishment you made filled me with such pride. Now all I feel is shame. It would have been better if your mother had succeeded in killing you when you were a child."

I almost lost it then, but I clenched my jaws and willed the tears not to fall. Moorhead uttered a string of ancient words, then abruptly turned and walked away. As far as she was concerned, I didn't exist. I stayed where I was until she and her bodyguards climbed into the limo and drove off. I never saw Moorhead or my mother or any Familiar that I knew of ever again.

I turned away from the gate and walked back to where the others waited. I could tell from the sympathy in their eyes that their enhanced hearing had picked up everything that happened. Max stepped closer to me and touched my arm. "We're sorry, Skye."

I shrugged. "I knew something like this would happen when I decided to help you. It was still the right thing to do."

"And a high price to pay. You gonna be alright?"

I looked at her. At Joshua, Alec, and Mole. At Luke and all the other Transgenics. And I smiled. "I'll be fine. The Conclave thought they gave me the worst possible punishment. A month ago they would've been right, but now..." I held my hand out. Joshua took it without hesitation, smiling warmly. "Now I have all of you," I concluded.

The ever-sardonic Mole snorted. "That's some consolation."

"I just did what everybody else here's done," I explained, "When you don't have a family to turn to, you make one. That's what TC is when you get down to it; a big, mixed-up, dysfunctional family. And if there's one thing Familiars can agree on, it's that whether you're born into it or choose it, family is everything."

Max smiled at this while Alec smirked as if he thought of a private joke. Luke nodded in agreement, and Mole shifted uncomfortably. And Joshua, my sweet Joshua, stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, sheltering and embracing me. A man I'd only known a month and yet knew and understood me better than anyone in the world.

Moorhead and the rest of the Conclave believed exile was a punishment. What they didn't realize, and what I understood now, was that it was only exile if they took me away from the people I cared about. And _these_ people, these genetically engineered misfits, they were my people now. The Conclave hadn't punished me; they'd set me free.

Joshua summed it up the best, "Us freaks gotta stick together."

I laughed and reached up to ruffle his shaggy hair. "You said it." And I planned on sticking with him for the rest of my life.


End file.
